


The Grounds Keeper's Son

by bonestilts



Category: X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Boarding School, Charles is a Tease, Child Abuse, Erik Has Feelings, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, Erik is Poor, Growing Up Together, Homophobia, Horny Teenagers, Kid Fic, M/M, More characters to come, Mutual Pining, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Summer, Swearing, bad language, bookmark it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-23
Packaged: 2019-03-02 04:47:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13310865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonestilts/pseuds/bonestilts
Summary: Charles and Erik are childhood friends who gradually fall in love through each summer they spend together. Also Raven.inspired by wolverine origin (comic) and atonement.





	1. Introduction

**Author's Note:**

> please leave comments, i need them badly
> 
>  please imagine that the estate is the house out of atonement, stokesay court.
> 
> have not proof read thisoOPS

_July, 1980 – Chapter One_

It was the day of Charles Xavier’s eighth birthday. Charles wakes up with the smell of sweet pancakes, fresh in his nostrils, he steadily gets out of bed and changes out of his stripy, blue pyjamas that his Auntie got for him last Christmas. Charles doesn’t attempt to hide his excitement; he bounds down the stairs with a grin stretching across both cheeks and greets his mother at the table. Other children would see their mother’s in the kitchen, but Charles has never even seen Sharon look in the direction of the kitchen, let alone spend time in there. His mother once told him that that was where the maids belonged after he wondered why other people did jobs for them.

“The jobs exist for them Charles, they exist for the people less fortunate than us.” She had said.

“What does that mean?” Charles had asked.

“It means they haven’t been blessed like we have. Fortunate is a word to measure the amount of luck one has, and they don’t have much, otherwise they’d be working elsewhere. Understand?” 

Charles nodded, despite him really not understanding. It confused him why people were treated differently from others because of certain factors in their lives. But that was years ago.

After finishing his breakfast, Charles went into the back kitchen and thanked all the maids there who merely ruffled up his hair and smiled down at him fondly. Charles was then yelled at for running to the front door; that was where all the shoes were placed. He slipped on his black loafers and had to retie his laces after he rushed the first time and accidentally tied his shoes together in excitement. 

There’s only one thing about this day that Charles truly cares for; the trip to the bookstore. Every year on this exact day, his mother takes him to the bookstore in town and allows him to pick whatever book he pleases, whatever price. The bookstore is on the corner of the main shopping street, Charles is familiar with the street due to his weekend trips with his mother; who forces him to tag along and wait as she shops for new blouses. The bell above the large wooden door rings as Charles steps inside, he is suddenly reminded of the overwhelming feeling of being in such a large store. Unlike all the other shops he’s visited with racks of clothes and small tables advertising up-coming products, the space is filled with massive bookshelves that are all standing in rows upon rows. The bookstore smells oddly stale and dusty, Charles adores it. His mother stands by the door as he rushes off to the fictional isle, as labelled on the top of the bookshelf, and begins searching all the spines for an intriguing title. Charles picks one and gently slides it backwards, until the pressure of the book leans against his small palm and he is forced to use both hands to hold the book up. He opens it and finds himself flipping through the pages in awe as the scent of old, used and loved books fills his nose; Charles is convinced it smells better than the pancakes he ate this morning. He takes his time to study his favourite thing about a book, the printed text that is permeant on each page. It pleases him, aesthetically, that the words are in such a nice font, so dark and there. They’re just the right size for his liking, not like those childish books that his mother used to read him, where the words were as big as the book itself. Charles wonders if this particular text design is categorized differently to the other fonts in books, if the certain curves in the letters have a name. 

He hadn’t realized the presence of his mother until she spoke from behind him, “You’re too young to be able to read a book like that, Charlie.” 

Charles turned on his heel and looked up at his amused mother, he loved it when she called him Charlie, but that didn’t stop the annoyance that he spoke back to her with. “I am not! I read these books all the time at home.”

“Aren’t they a little too hard for you though, sweetie?” 

He answered stubbornly, “No.” 

“Are you sure we can’t look in the children books section? There may be one you like over there, one easier to read.” 

“No, I like these ones.”

There was no doubt Charles was smart for his age, his mother had known ever since Charles began to read out numbers with more digits than he could hold up on his hands at a very young age. It had shocked both her and Brian, and he suggested they took him to a school for advanced learners. But despite Charles being more intellectually intelligent than other children his age, he was still learning the mundane things every other kid should; like how to tie his shoes and brush his teeth properly. So, they sent their only son to normal elementary school; ignoring the fact that they frequently received complaints from the school concerning Charles and his tendency to ‘show off’.  
His mother sighs, looking towards their left at something that had caught her attention,

“All right then.” Sharon excused herself from her son and walked off, leaving Charles to hunt. 

It took Charles another half hour to find the book he desired to keep. He was saddened to discover that the book did in fact have illustrations, and the text wasn’t so small and close, but it still interested Charles. He had read the blurb of many books, but none caught his attention like Roald Dahl’s ‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’. Without knowing, his mother was right, he was far too young to be reading the books he was first looking at in the beginning, there was no wonder; most of them just so happened to be Stephen King. Charles took the book to the counter and allowed the old lady at the register to tell him a brief history about the author, surprisingly he didn’t care what she said for he was too excited about reading the actual book. 

“Now this is a good choice. Roald Dahl is an amazing writer, British too. I remember another book we had of his, it was a while back, it had something to do with–” Charles zoned out and missed the rest of what she said, but he remembered to keep nodding. His mother paid the two pounds with a slight frown and Charles received his book in a brown paper bag. He was ecstatic. Once returning home, unlike most kids; who spend their birthdays with their friends hosting a party and celebrating youth, Charles instead ventures outside into the garden and reads his new book.

His mother emerges outside later that afternoon, she takes a moment by the patio to gaze at her only son. He remains sitting faraway under a familiar tree, hiding from the blazing heat of the midsummers day. The trees filtering the sun has caused the leaves to create tattoos on his pale face, he looks content and awfully cheerful for a lonely boy his age. Sharon notices that he is unfazed by the unevenness of one of his grey socks, it has slipped down and is pooling by his thin ankle whilst the other still clings high to his shin. Due to the summer’s heat, the once soft grass has turned crisp and it crunches under the wedge of Sharon’s sandals as she makes her way over to the tree. 

“Darling Charles,” His mother doesn’t bend over to look him in the face or sit down next to him, she merely places her thin hand on his head. “I know I’ve asked, but are you sure there really aren’t any friends we could phone over? It is your special day and you mustn’t have to spend it out here all alone.” 

Charles takes his nose out of his book and looks up at her with big eyes, “I’m fine reading, thank you.” He smiles at her as if to prove his point. Whilst looking down at her untroubled son, she began to wonder if he even had other children his age to call friends. 

“Very well,” Sharon says gently although her tone has no affection in it whatsoever, she extracts her hand and begins to walk away. 

Before closing the sliding door behind her, she turned her head and yelled out to Charles. “Supper’s in an hour, be washed by then please.” 

Whilst making up a small fruit platter for Charles, Sharon considers joining him at school one day to see if he actually got along with his class, the thought was dismissed with a choked off laugh. There was no way the boy would make it far in his future with no friends, having people beside him, to support him in his actions. Although Sharon didn’t have many friends any more, she certainly had plenty when she was Charles’ age. 

Over the next week, Charles continued to read alone and Sharon continued to worry about his social life. She had come to the realisation that she had never heard Charles speak of any of his classmates at school, he hadn’t said a peep about who he hung out with every day, and Sharon took it upon herself to fix that one evening after dinner. 

“Brian?” 

“Yes dear?” Her husband was sitting in his tatty, burgundy chair situated in his office. She had come in search of him, intending to find a solution to their son’s isolation. He lifted his head at the mention of his name. Sharon stepped closer and kneeled down in front of the chair, she took his hands in hers. 

“Are you aware that your son spends every moment of his day alone?” She smiled sadly and tilted her head to the side in question. 

“Yes, is there a problem with that?” Sharon nodded wearily, her concern washing off herself and onto her husband, “What is it?” 

“Charles doesn’t have any friends.” 

Brian frowns, “No friends?” 

“No, none at all.” 

“When did this happen?” 

“Since the beginning of school,” He doesn’t say anything, so she continues explaining, “He’s done nothing to mention whom he plays with. The child doesn’t seem to have anyone to call a friend.” 

“Surely not, he must have someone. He’s a smart boy, kids would be delusional not to like him.” Brian protested. 

Sharon shook her head violently, as if it would suddenly convince her husband. “All Charles does is read alone every day, it’s almost been a month into summer break and he hasn’t asked to see anyone. I even asked him if he wanted anyone over for his birthday but he declined.” 

“Could he have an illness? Depression maybe?” 

“It can’t be, Charles is far from depressed, if anything, he’s lonely. We must help him get friends soon, if not, I fear his childhood will be spoiled otherwise.” 

Sharon squeezed her husband’s hands, she knew he could see how much this meant to her. She only wished the best for his son’s future, and growing up with no friends, no social experience, didn’t seem like a good idea for an intelligent boy like Charles. 

“Yes, alright. What do you think we should do?"

"Find him a friend."

"It's not very easy to just find a child the same age as our own and deem them friends. We need someone close by, right?" Sharon agreed. "Someone who can keep him company during the summer break for school, that's the longest holiday for them."

"But who is close by?"

"Well... There's the grounds keeper's son? If I'm remembering correctly, they're similar ages."

"Brian, you can't be serious? You want that boy to be a friend of ours? Do you not see him around?"

"No, why?"

"He's never been dresses properly in his life, can hardly clean himself and helps about with the labour. Helps along with _our_ labour."

"So? What is wrong with the boy?"

“We don’t want to be influencing Charles with those types of people. He should learn from an early age that he is far more civilised and, well – how should I put this – _rich_.” 

“Sharon, don’t be absurd. If Charles learns anything from having a friend, it will to become a better person. He will have to do.” 

Brian let go of Sharon’s hands to slip his glasses down from his forehead, he pulled open a drawer on his desk and slapped a check book on the table in front of them both. 

“Wait, you aren’t–you’re not going to bribe him, are you?” Sharon raised her voice in surprise. 

“Bribe? No, of course not. This is not a dishonest act, I’m just giving him a little more in return for his favour.” Her husband looked at her with wide, innocent eyes. So that’s where Charles gets it from. 

Sharon stood up abruptly, she picked up the check book and held it close to her chest, where Brian couldn’t grab it back. “Our child is not an object, he is a living person; with feelings. You cannot pay someone to force their kid to be friends with him, that’s–it’s, it’s not natural.” 

“Do you wish for him to live a lonely childhood instead?” Sharon felt her grip on the check book loosen. 

“It’s this or nothing,” Brian drew his lips into a straight line and lifted his eyebrows, he knew her answer and was patiently waiting. “Now, pass over the book so I can deliver it to him tonight. That way when tomorrow comes around, you won’t have to watch Charles sit by himself anymore.” Sharon surrendered the check book and handed it back to her husband, he smiled at her and then began to write on one of the slips. Sharon didn’t bother to look over his wrist and see what number he was writing, she didn’t want to know. It made her feel a little ill inside to know they were paying for a friend for Charles, but she really did only want the best for her son; and if this was it, then so be it. Brian ripped the slip of paper out neatly and stood up before giving his wife a kiss on the forehead, then disappearing out the door; presumably to the grounds keeper’s house to give in the check.

* * *

“Boy!” 

“Yes Papa?” Erik scrambled up from his position on the floor. He had been playing with a train sculpture he made with sticks and twine that Erik found by the vegetable garden. 

“You’ve done your chores, haven’t you?” His father asked in his usual gruff, unsettling voice. He stared at Erik from the only piece of comfortable furniture in the house; his bed. He was lying on his back with his hands behind his head, Erik could tell he wouldn’t be moving any time soon. 

“Yes Papa.” Erik nodded slightly. He tried not to acknowledge that his father had taken off his belt, the thick leather strip spread out on the bed, showing its full length and capability, ready for Erik to slip up, _waiting_ for Erik to slip up. 

“Good boy,” His father gave him a crooked smile, baring his yellow and rotting teeth. “Fetch me a smoke then won’t you?” Erik did as he was told and walked a few feet to the kitchen counter; he was being generous calling it a kitchen, but it was all they had. The nine-year-old picked up the new pack of cigarettes that his father had undoubtedly bought that day, brought it over to the buff man and handed it to him with shaky hands. His father hummed and then flicked his wrist towards to the only other room in their household, “Off to bed now, go on.” 

Erik opened his mouth to ask about dinner, he shut just as fast once he saw the look on his father’s face; daring him to step out of line so that he could show his son right and wrong. Erik turned on his heel and went back to his room, where he sat back down on the blankets situated on the ground, and resumed his lively, action movie starring his homemade train. 

Erik came up with the idea of creating the sculpture earlier that day; whilst stumbling upon a vegetable garden near the tool shed. There were many different types of plants growing in the moist soil, they had little posts with wooden signs on the top labelling which plant was which. Erik didn’t think he would be harming anyone by taking the posts and detaching the signs off of them. So, he did, along with the few threads of string that surrounded the small garden bed, as if it would secure the growing vegetables from trespassing animals. He knew that the small garden wasn’t his property and his father would get mad if he found out he had stolen from it, but he was sure that the man wouldn’t find out. After lunch, his father let him play, so he went off to the red shed again and sat behind it, where he began to make his train. The shed wasn’t in an open area like the main garden was, with the large water fountain in the centre, and the view of the incredibly, massive pale house that held many rooms inside. It was tucked away down a small slightly overgrown track that connected to another part of the garden, one with more trees and actual growing vegetables. Erik liked it better there, mostly because he couldn’t be seen by anyone, but also because he wasn’t reminded of being poor; having to stare at the large house all day made him feel that way more often then he would like. Erik wasn’t sure how, but he managed to put the twine and sticks together and construct a train looking model. He never really understood how he was able to figure out how things worked, how they were built, but he had a deep interest in it and practised the skill quiet often. 

Later that night, while Erik lay on his side on the hard, uncomfortable ground, with his hands over his ears; he tried to ignore the faint singing in the distance coming from the mansion. He tried to ignore the sudden tightness of his throat, tried to ignore the prickle of his eyes despite them being tightly squeezed shut. He tried to ignore the fact that no one had ever sung to him on his birthday, nor had he received any gifts. Erik tried to ignore the building hatred he had for the boy, who every year on this day, was showered in love and appreciation. He tried. Erik a knock at the door to his house. It was after dinner time, not that a meal had been served, and his father had already taken his spot lying down on the only bed; just like the night before, and the one before that. He expected his father to yell out his name to answer it for him, because he was probably too drunk to remember how to turn the door knob. But this time his father got up himself and Erik instantly knew who the visitor was. 

“Good evening,” 

“T’you too. Is there a problem, sir?” His father’s voice travelled softly through the thin wall of the house, allowing Erik to successfully eavesdrop from his position on the blanket covered floor. 

“Not at all, I just came to offer you a deal, I think you’d be interested in it.” The man spoke politely, his English accent was thick and Erik could already picture his smiling expression despite not being able to see it. His father didn’t say anything, but the man continued so Erik was left to assume his father had nodded. “My son, as you know is a little younger than yours, doesn’t have much company on his estate. Your boy is the only other child on the property and I am willing to pay for you to introduce your child to mine. To, you know, keep him occupied through the summer break.” Erik was then sure that he hadn’t meant to hear that, he turned over and decided to block his ears to stop from listening in. He didn’t particularly like the feeling the idea left in his stomach; his father being given money to force Erik to befriend the boy who lived in the big house, whom he passionately disliked. 

As Erik was trying to enter the dark abyss of sleep, he was startled by the slamming of the front door. He must have fallen asleep whilst the two men were in convocation because Erik couldn’t remember them bidding each other farewell. At the sound of his father’s heavy footsteps advancing towards his room, and as a reflex, Erik’s body tensed and he shut his eyes tightly, as if convincing himself that he was asleep. Fear was bubbling up in Erik’s chest as his father’s feet halted at his curled-up body on the ground. 

“Boy,” His father’s words sounded like a snarl, but his son was sure it was only him trying to speak quietly, “don’t you try’n fool me with this sleeping shit, look at me.” Erik gave in and sat up slowly, looking up at the dark silhouette that was his father. He was holding some dark shape in his hand, it looked like something harmless, maybe a piece of paper. _Just a piece of paper_ , Erik’s whole body seemed to sigh with relief, he could finally breathe again, _no punishments tonight_. If his father really was holding a slip of paper, Erik knew immediately what would come next. “Starting tomorrow you’re gonna be that pathetic runt’s friend, understood?” 

Erik obviously wasn’t sure of what the right answer was, because when ‘but I don’t like that boy’ came out of his mouth, his father had responded with silence. Deadly, dangerous silence. He had thought too soon when regarding punishments that evening. 

The dream that was dreamt was quite an extraordinary one; one that featured Erik with himself, there were two of him. They were both identical and both looked saddened by the thought of their own life, which was unusual for such a young child, but Erik couldn’t understand that at his age; not yet anyway. Erik took Erik’s hand in his own and looked himself in the face, it was a cold stare, one that signified that they were both aware of how the other was feeling. Which was only excepted since they were indeed the same person. It was bright and fresh smelling, this dream, and Erik found himself walking with himself to a nearby water loo. They glanced to the other and shrugged in unison before stripping down and running into the welcoming pool. Once in they both enjoyed playing around in the refreshing water and were soon more than content with where they were at in that very moment, but just as soon, Erik’s father had appeared. Behind him was a trail of dark footsteps on the glistening grass, the nature that had been stepped on seemed to be dead, dark and scary looking. There were veins of danger slithering away from the footsteps and Erik saw their intention to corrupt the beautiful dream he was having with – well – himself. By morning, Erik woke with small bruises seeping underneath his skin. Without being able to see, he was also sure that there were hurtful red marks on his spine from where his father’s belt had greeted his skin. Erik was somewhat used to the way he was treated by his father, through the years the behaviour had slowly emerged itself as part of his routine. Erik’s day went on as per usual, he continued doing chores around the estate, a little weeding, cleaning through the tool shed and even got to spend a bit of time next to the vegetable garden in hopes of finding more construction materials. 

It wasn’t until a week later that Erik finally got to meet the kid who lived in the big house. He was sitting by the fountain in the garden, right where everyone could see from the windows. Erik followed the instructions he was given and slowly walked towards him. The boy was being drenched in sun and his skin was practically glowing, Erik didn’t like that the kid looked transparent. The boy was holding something in his hands, it was resting in his lap and Erik wondered why on earth he was looking down at this thing with scribbles on it. He stopped at the crossed legs on the dry grass. 

“What are you doing?” Erik looked down at the boy, he was talking about the book but the boy hadn’t seemed to hear him. Erik coughed to try and get his attention, planning to speak again but this time raise his voice. The boy looked up at him now. Erik opened his mouth to repeat his question, but stopped, deciding on something else. “We’re going to remember this moment, aren’t we?” Erik wasn’t very sure on the meaning behind it, but he felt that it was what had to be said in the moment.

“Pardon me?” The kid looked confused, he eyed Erik in a way that made his skin crawl. Neither of them spoke for a bit, they just stared at each other, mentally battling themselves to figure out who should say something first, and if then, what? “Uhm, well, my name is Charles.” The brown-haired boy raised his hand in the air towards Erik, “What’s your name?”

Erik had seen his father shake hands with other men before, so he took Charles’ hand in his and mimicked his father’s motion. “I’m Erik.”

Erik sat down in front of Charles, who was resting his back against the base of the marble fountain. The grass spiked Erik’s inner thighs, where his shorts rode up as he crossed his legs, it was scratchy and uncomfortable. He noticed that Charles was still holding that awfully old looking object against his pale legs, but only this time he was staring curiously at Erik. “What is that thing?” Erik tried to harden his tone, to make the boy aware that he didn’t like him, nor did he like to be here. Charles only raised an eyebrow and held up the object.

“It’s a book, have you never read one?” 

Erik was going to ask what ‘reading’ was, but he didn’t want to come off as a fool and by the expression on Charles’ face, the fact that he’d questioned what the ‘book’ was in the first place was enough to convince Charles that he was indeed, a fool. So instead, Erik shook his head. 

“It’s a made-up story, like the ones mother and father read before bedtime.” Erik instantly regretted asking what the book was, “It’s written by someone smart and they put it on paper and sell it so other people can read their stories.” 

“What’s that story about?” 

“It’s about a fox who is trying to feed his family, and the only way to do that is to steal from these three farmers, who are really quite mean.” Charles starts flipping pages furiously and comes across a dark patch on the page. He holds it up for Erik to see, “This is a picture of one of them, the farmers, his name is Boggis.”

Erik leans forward to get a better look, the man drawn there was angry looking, he held a knife in one hand and his glaring eyes seemed to be bulging out of his head. He reminded Erik of his father. Erik suddenly felt the urge to get up and leave, he didn’t feel like talking to Charles anymore. 

“I think I need to go.” Erik said hopelessly, secretly liking the way that a flash of hurt made its way across Charles’ face. He found pride in making other kids cry. He rose to his feet, relieved that the grass wasn’t poking at his sensitive skin anymore. 

“Are you sure you don’t want me to read you a page? It’s good, I promise.” Of course Erik didn’t want him to read him a page. He wanted to say no, to shake his head and leave, but the thought of his father’s reaction once Erik got home and reported that he’d left this kid alone stopped him. He was supposed to be his friend. Reluctantly, he agreed.

“Yeah, alright. Only one page though, this is getting boring.” Erik hoped that Charles would be offended by him saying he was ‘boring’, but the boy’s face only seemed to brighten. 

“Great! Come back and sit down, I’ll read to you about Boggis.” He sat back down. “Okay, ready?” He nodded. “Boggis was a chicken farmer. He kept thousands of chickens.” Charles lifted his eyes as if to check that Erik was still listening. He was. "He was enormously fat. This was because he ate three boiled chickens smothered with dumplings every day for breakfast, lunch and supper." Charles snapped the book shut.

Erik found himself a little disappointed that the story had ended so soon, he was beginning to enjoy it. No one had ever read a book to him before, or even a story for that matter. “Was that all?”

“I can read to you about Bunce as well, if you’d like?” Charles looked hopeful, Erik had an urge to decline it, to see if Charles would get upset, he wanted to see Charles upset. Why did Charles seem immune to Erik’s disinterest? Erik wasn’t very fond of Charles yet, he thought his voice was too high and annoying. But he kept reminding himself that it was his job to be nice. 

“I’ll hear about Bunce.” 

For the first time, Erik saw what Charles looked like when he was smiling. His eyes seemed lighter, his whole face brighter. And although he had a smile just like any other kid their age, Erik found himself disliking the look of Charles’ smile.

“Bunce is my favourite farmer, he’s absolutely foul!” Charles squealed, making Erik jump a little, but nevertheless smile along with his new companion. “Bunce was a duck-and-goose famer. He kept thousands of ducks and geese. He was a kind of pot-bellied dwa–“

“What does pot-bellied mean?” Erik attempted to ask coolly, as if it would lessen the impression that he was dumb.

“I think…” Charles stared Erik in the eyes in thought, something that made him feel uncomfortable yet not enough to drag his eyes away from the other boy’s bluer ones. “I think it means he’s fat. Like Boggis. Do you want me to keep going?”

No. “Yes.”

Charles skimmed the page to find where he was up to, it wasn’t hard to find though, the words were large enough for him to easily find it. “He was a kind of pot-bellied dwarf. He was so short that his chin would have been underwater in the shallow end of any swimming-pool in the world.”

“I’ve never been to a swimming pool before, only ever swum in lakes.” Erik found himself confessing, despite his heart wanting to say as less as possible, his mind however, was open for conversation.

“I’ve never been swimming.” Charles spoke right back, then continued. “His food was dough-nuts and goose-livers. He mashed the livers into a disgusting paste and then stuffed the paste into the doughnuts. The diet gave him a tummy-ache and a–a… bes–beastly temper.”

He had to agree with Charles; Bunce had been his favourite story so far. Erik liked imagining the foods he made. He also liked imaging him struggling in the shallow end of a swimming pool, not that he knew what that looked like. But it was fun to picture stuff in his mind whilst also studying the face of the boy in front of him. Erik realised that the boy’s hair was quite wavy, it wasn’t very long, but it was longer than Erik’s. Erik’s father cut his hair, and it was always short and neat around his ears, whereas Charles’ hair was longer and some was drooping at his eyebrow, threatening to cover the vision of his right eye. He also had an impressive amount of freckles along his nose and cheeks, Erik thought about the fact that he never got freckles, only tan, and it was obvious that the boy in front of him did _not_ tan. He was the palest thing Erik had ever seen. Erik found himself wanting to scowl at the pale boy.

Then Erik remembered that wasn’t sure what a word meant, “Beastly?” Charles didn’t seem to know either, he just shrugged and then closed the book again, to signify he had finished that page also. “The pages are short, aren’t they?” It was meant as an insult.

Charles smiled at this, as if he knew something Erik didn’t. “Yeah, they are, but it is a children’s books.” 

For some odd reason, Erik felt like he should keep talking. "You don't usually read by the fountain, why aren't you under the tree today?"

"How do you know?"

"I see you sometimes." Charles waited for him to continue, "I see you when I've working, and you've never sat here before."

"I have sat here before, you probably just didn't notice me because of the fountain."

"Right, because you're small." That did the job, Charles' face was contoured with a mild stage of hurt.

"I'm not small, I'll grow to be taller than you one day." 

"Yeah right."

"Just you wait." His pitchy voice was almost driving Erik crazy, he wondered if his voice sounded like that to Charles, or if all kids their age sounded that way to adults. If that was the case, Erik swore to himself he'd never have children. "You aren't even that tall anyway."

Erik smirks at him, which was the first time Charles saw Erik smile, sort of. "I'm taller than you." 

"Shut up."

He did.

Erik felt like he’d been sitting down for ages, he was suddenly starving, wondering when lunch time was, all this talk about Boggis and Bunce with their food had made him hungry. The sun was at its peak, throwing its hot rays down at the two boy who were sitting quietly face to face in the grass by the fountain. Erik wondered if he should begin to talk to Charles again. He had been right all-along, he didn’t like the kid. Erik had never really had a friend, but he could never imagine him calling Charles his, he would annoy him too much. But then again, as it always does, Erik’s mind reminded him of the consequences waiting back at his house for him if he wasn’t nice to Charles. After all he didn’t seem to have friends either. The water from the fountain distracted Erik for a moment, then encouraged him to speak.

“Should we go for a swim?” He asked hopefully.

Charles opened his mouth to answer, he looked excited, but instead of his boyish, whiny voice, it was a women’s, coming from the patio. “Charlie! It’s lunch time, come wash up!” 

There was disappointment written all over the pale boy’s face, “Sorry, I’ve got to go. But I’ll see you tomorrow, won’t I?” 

Erik knew the answer before Charles had even asked. “Where do we meet?”

Erik had never seen him look more cheerful, his eyes were wide with disbelief and his cheeks rosy with joy, “Right here, by the fountain. How about just after lunch? I could take you to the pond if you’d like.” The only thing that Charles said that excited Erik was the mentioning of the pond, he couldn’t think of anything worse than spending another day with Charles. 

“Alright, see you then.” Erik said lamely. The two of them stood up simultaneously and Charles tucked his book underneath his arm. Charles began to walk towards his house with an obnoxiously large smile plastered on his face, it irritated Erik that he was the smile. 

Before Charles was out of speaking range, he turned back and spoke back to Erik who turned around at his words. “And yes, I think we are going to remember that moment.”

Erik gaped at him, “You heard me?”

“Of course, I heard you.” He continued walking, leaving Erik staring after him. 


	2. Not a Pond, Charles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles learns that Erik is way more complicated than he lets off, even for a nine-year-old. And Erik subconsciously acknowledges that he may not just be in it for the job anymore.
> 
> key word: 'subconsious' (of or concerning the part of the mind of which one is not fully aware but which influences one's actions and feelings.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please comment any feedback at all! if there are any mistakes in this, call me out, it helps just as much as the compliments.  
> thank you for reading, i virtually love you. 
> 
> (try hard to imagine the estate as stokesay court, the house from atonement, as well as the pond/dam. they're based off of that, in my own way really because i cannot possible describe the magnificence and beauty of the location)

_July, 1980 – Chapter Two_

Charles was more then delighted to hear that his new friend would be joining him tomorrow. So far it was only lunch time and he'd had one of the best days of his entire holidays. Charles had certainly seen Erik around on his property before, he often had his hands dirty and his hair matted to his sweaty forehead. It was hard to believe he was only a year older than Charles — his father had told him his age once — and yet Erik was doing so much more work than Charles. It made Charles feel a little bit like a baby, he wanted to be doing just as much as Erik was, maybe to prove to himself that he was worthy, or maybe just so he could do it _with_ Erik. Only a few minutes ago Erik and he had been sitting down by the fountain, Charles having the time of his life reading out to his new friend. Although Charles could tell that Erik was fidgeting to get up and do something, as if he couldn't sit still for very long, which just so happened to be Charles's specialty. 

Once Charles had opened the door to his house from the patio, he whirled around to see if Erik was still in sight — he was. The taller boy wasn't walking towards his house by the corner of the estate like Charles had expected, instead he was cutting across the garden, far behind the fountain where it was harder to see, and was heading towards the dense part of bushes that bordered the large grass land. The sun was high above their heads, and Charles could see that Erik was struggling to keep his eyes open even whilst looking at his feet, it was just too bright. He wondered why the light haired boy was going towards the vegetable garden that Charles and one of the maids had made a few years back, when Charles went through his obsession plantation phase and wanted to know everything about how things grew from soil.

Charles took his shoes off by the door, then continued making his way inside the air-conditioned house and went straight to one of the downstairs bathrooms to wash his face and hands, like his mother liked. Charles was partially glad that his mother had called him in, he was starting to boil outside finally now that England had been struck with summer, a season that doesn't seem to visit very often at all. He watched the water rebounding off of his small hands swirl around in the porcelain sink before being swallowed by the gold encrusted drain, it was calming in a way an eight-year-old boy wouldn't expect.

Charles seated himself at the dining table that day with the biggest grin his mother had ever seen. Her and her husband shared a look that Charles missed, he was far too occupied with planning the next day with Erik in his mind. Sharon put a few pieces of bread onto Charle's plate, then offered him the vegetable platter for him to fill his empty looking sandwich with, he didn't, he was distracted. Charles continued to smile and stare at the bread on his plate until his mother couldn't take it any longer.

"What is up with you Charlie?"

Charles snapped his eyes up to meet hers. "Huh?"

"Why aren't you eating? Why do you keep smiling to yourself?" Charles wasn't very surprised to hear that although her words had the intention of being curious, her tone was not showing any signs of interest whatsoever. If anything, she was deeply _uninterested_ with what Charles was going to say next. But of course, he was far too young to understand the meaning behind his discovery. That still didn't stop him from stumbling over his words and explaining to her why his day had just been so great.

Charles started talking faster than anyone his parents had ever heard, "I made a new friend mother! His name is Erik—and he came over to me whilst I read my new Fantastic Mr Fox book—and he let me read a few pages to him—the one's about Boggis and Bunce—you know them—and he asked me if we could go swimming—but of course—"

"Charlie! Charlie! Calm down, speak slower, I can't understand what you're going on about."

"You know that boy, Erik?" His mother nodded slowly after hesitating, as if still trying to muster up enough regard to convince Charles that he cared. "Yes, well, he's become my new friend. And he wants to meet tomorrow to play again." Charles swapped between looking at his mother's face, to his father's face. Both were showing very different emotions. His father, however smiling at what his son was saying, had a hard look in his eyes, a look that he — if Charles were any older and wiser — would recognise as guilt. His mother did truly seem happy for him, or maybe relieved, but was also hinting that she would rather be hearing about other things. 

"That's very good of you Charles, I'm glad you've found someone to talk to." Brian nodded his way before dipping his head down to resume eating his lunch. Charles felt like he was glowing with pride, the only thing his father ever congratulated him on was his grades. His mother only continued smiling, continued giving his father odd looks and continued to make Charles question her actions. 

That night, Charles could hardly sleep, he was too excited for the next day to come. He had never had someone else to hang out with during summer break, and Anastasia didn't count. Anastasia was darker than most women Charles had seen around town, he had only seen her in her uniform and barely saw her with her hair down. She had big brown eyes, it reminded Charles of a puppy dog. She was Charles' favourite maid, mostly because she could tolerate him nattering away most weeks about the newest book he had read or something he had learnt. But he was quiet fond of her, who tied her frizzy dark hair up in the neatest bun she could manage and always snuck Charles extra shortbread biscuits after supper. He lay in his queen sized bed, kicking his legs restlessly as if it would help him find a more comfortable position. It really didn't. The summer's heat seemed to be following him around everywhere because now Charles was even too hot to have his duvet drawn over his scrawny body. The air he breathed seemed too humid and every time Charles would close his eyes, he'd picture himself in a rain forest like the one he read about in _'Where the Wild Things Are'_.

Charles had always wanted a wolf suit like Max had. He almost wished his mother would yell "WILD THING!" at him and he'd be sent to bed with no supper, then his room would become a lively forest just like it had in the book. He wanted to be able to put something on and escape into an imaginative world, one full of adventure and carelessness. Most importantly, one with friends. Charles fell asleep picturing how happy he'd be in Max's wild world.

Charles and Erik met at the fountain. Charles got his mother’s permission to wear the overalls he received from his Aunty the year before, they had been untouched before this occasion. The pant part wasn’t long like all the other ones Charles had seen in shops, his were cut off, like shorts, which he was glad for because it was already hot outside. The overalls were made of a tough material; his father had once called it ‘denim’ and Charles liked the way it looked against his white shirt. Charles arrived with a picnic basket full of assorted snacks that Anastasia helped him put together that morning. Erik was wearing shorts, they were the same material as Charles, except his had a few rips in them and looked very used. Erik also wore a light coloured striped polo, it had two dirty stains on it that caused Charles to wonder what from. Charles observed that it seemed to make his skin look darker, by wearing lighter colours. 

Erik didn’t smile when he saw Charles walk up to him, he didn’t smile when Charles greeted him either. Charles didn’t mind. 

“Should we go to the pond now?” 

“Let us go.” 

For the first time, Charles noticed his slight accent. Erik’s expression didn’t change and in all its youth it still managed to look hard and serious, Charles wondered if he’d see him smile again like he did yesterday. Even that was hardly a smile, if he was remembering correctly it looked a little more like a snarl.

They walk side by side now, Charles carrying the picnic basket and Erik carrying his book, something Charles was surprised he’d agreed to. The sun overhead was blazing once again and the two of them unknowingly shared the thought of wishing they’d brought hats. Charles leads Erik past the fountain and they gradually turn right, they pass through the dense trees boarding the estate’s main grounds and down an overgrown dirt path. Once the pass thinned, Charles offers to go in front of Erik and holds the branches back so that they don’t flick him in the face. They pass by the red shed and vegetable garden and Charles reminds himself that he needs to check up on how his plants are growing. 

As Erik walks behind Charles, he watches him grab at the tall cow parsleys that brush against them on the thin trail. Erik finds it amusing when the boy succeeds in taking hold of one of them, then with his one available hand, uses his thumb to scrap at the top of the plant; the remanence of the flower is lifted by the subtle breeze and surrounds Erik. He takes notice to the way the newly grown yarrow cripples underneath their feet, as if strictly being told it was unwelcomed to overgrow onto where people’s feet travel. Erik rarely looks ahead, he knows where they are going, when he does he is reminded of how rich the country side was. There were so many types of the colour green. 

Whilst declining down a small slope, Charles slides down a bit of rubble and swings the picnic basket in the air in attempt of rebalancing himself, a sandwich flies out and lands somewhere behind Charles’ shoulder. Once he is stable, he turns around to see Erik eyeing the ham and lettuce sandwich by his feet. Charles notices that the tan pair of feet aren’t hidden by shoes.

“You brought lunch?” His tone sounds cold, Charles points at his bare feet.

“Where are your shoes?”

Erik’s face scrunches up suddenly, “Does it really matter where my shoes are?”

“Well, yes. What if you accidentally cut your foot.”

“I don’t care if I cut my foot on accident.” 

Charles corrects him, “By accident.”

“Shut up!” Erik steps over the sandwich on the ground and walks around Charles, he storms off along the winding trail and heads towards the great view of water nearby. Charles was too distracted by the difference in the way Erik said his words compared to him that he doesn’t bother getting upset over the fact that his new friend just yelled 'shut up' at him. 

Charles stares at the food product on the ground a little before stepping forward and putting it back inside his basket. Charles wasn’t sure how he had upset Erik with what he’d said. Not long later, Chares is greeted by a grassy opening, full of healthy plants and in the centre, was the glimmering pond. Charles re-joins Erik in the shade under a tree close by the water’s edge. The younger boy was glad he’d picked a nice spot away from the sun. 

Charles sits next to him, putting the basket between his feet on the ground. He looks over at the water, “I’m sorry for asking. I was just worried that you’d hurt yourself.”

Erik doesn’t show any acknowledgement to what Charles had said, he was looking at his shoes. 

“I’ve always wanted those shoes. I saw my cousin wearing them last year.”

Without thinking, Charles replies, “Why didn’t you get them?” 

Erik looks at him now, with noticeable aggression and pain. Charles suddenly feels very uncomfortable and tries to look away from Erik’s hard eyes, yet he can’t. How was he able to always wind this kid up? Erik visibly took a deep breath whilst still keeping eye contact with Charles. 

The boy beside him states simply, “I have one pair of shoes, my work boots. Papa only lets me wear them when I’m working. I am not working. I am not wearing them.” After rethinking, Erik silently decides that he was indeed working for it was his new job to be with Charles. Oh, what Erik would do to be anywhere else, with anyone else.

Although it was very odd for Charles to hear of someone only having one pair of shoes, what Erik said had sounded awfully mature and was spoken with such confidence that Charles once again found himself feeling less of a boy than those around him. He was finding it hard to reply, instead he leans forward and opens the basket placed between his white all-stars. 

Before Charles can offer Erik a sandwich, he continues with the aggression Charles had seen only moments ago, “I don’t need to be given food by you, I can feed myself.” After a pause, he adds hastily, “I’m not _that poor_.” 

Charles ignores this, if Erik couldn’t see that he was only trying to be kind, then, he would just have to try harder. Charles left the sandwich by Erik’s hand, resting on the ground by his hip. He rose from his spot by the tree, with his snack and book, and cautiously closes the distance between him and the pond. 

“It’s actually a dam,” Charles turns his head to Erik, “Not a pond.” Charles is too glad to see Erik eating the sandwich he made, that he forgets to respond. “Earlier you said it was a pond, but men have changed it so that the water goes faster, it’s now a dam.” 

Charles smiles at him, happy to see that the anger was gone, “How do you so much about dams?” Erik shrugs, before taking another impressively large bite out of Charles’ sandwich. 

Charles turns back to look at the water. Erik was right. There are manmade stone ledges in the water, forming platforms and mini pools. The water runs down the different levelled walls like small waterfalls and causes the water to flow faster where it is deposited. The height difference between the two platforms wasn’t very much at all, a metre at most, but it could be successfully used as a jumping ledge. The whole thing looked a little like an enormously wide staircase, but with only three steps. 

Charles turns right and makes his way around the bank, he pushes his way through the overgrown plants, walks with a bent back up a small incline and finds himself at another small path. He walks left back along it, towards the dam, until he is standing on top of a small bridge that looks down on the water, down the steps, and across the small opening with Erik looking up at him from underneath the tree. Charles waves at him and thinks he almost sees the edge of Erik’s mouth curve. 

Charles puts his book and sandwich down on the bridge and lowers himself down a little to the right, avoiding the rush of water coming from the pipe below the arch, and finds his footing on the first platform of the dam. He kneels down, careful not to unbalance himself and fall into the pool of water below him, and begins to untie his shoelaces. He slips both shoes and socks off, places them neatly next to his belongings above him and sits down on the ledge, slowly slipping his pale feet into the water. 

“It’s cold!” he shouts down at Erik, who was beginning to take his own shoes off. Charles watches him lift his polo shirt over his head, revealing a torso much darker than his own. Charles almost laughs at how Erik’s legs, arms and face are browner than his middle, it looks as if someone has coloured him in and their marker has run out once they got to his chest. 

Charles looks down at his feet, they look slightly magnified in the water. Charles marvels at the way the water tickles the skin between his toes, Charles imagines that there are small fish eating at the dead skin there, just like how his farther explained to him once when they saw it on the television. His eyes follow along the weeds underneath, they wave at him slowly with the flow of water from the pipe. The dam was a beautiful colour, a mix of green and blue, and the ledges that are touched by it have blotches of fresh coloured moss. It was decorated prettily with lily pads, that floated around where they wished. 

Suddenly Charles hears fast, thumping footsteps advancing towards him, he lifts his head just in time to see a burst of water fly into the air, a violent ripple sending the lily pads far to the edges. The water rains back down and claps against the surface of the dam. Just as Charles is about to bring his feet out of the water and stand, Erik’s head pops up from below. He spits out some water that rolls down his chin and meets eyes with Charles. Erik flashes a grin at him, _finally_ a smile, before ducking back under out of sight. Charles couldn’t stop himself from beaming. 

After a while of splashing around by himself, Erik paddled himself to the first ledge, bringing his arms up to fold them upon the slimy stone and rest his chin on his forearm. “Will you ever get in?” 

Charles looks up from his book, close to sweating from the summer’s heat, his eyebrows raised, “I already told you, I can’t swim.”

“You told me that you’d never _been_ swimming, why can’t you swim?”

“I don’t know how to.”

Erik blankly looked up at him, water droplets clung to his dark eyelashes, seconds passed, “I can teach you.”

As much as he was grateful for the offer, Charles almost laughed, “No thank you.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t want– I don’t feel like learning how to swim right now. I’m fine just like this.” He nudges his chin down to motion towards his feet sitting in the water, creating small ripples. Erik doesn’t say anything, he merely gasps loudly before dunking under again, leaving a few bubbles on the surface. A single word came to Charles’ head then; mysterious. That boy was mysterious. 

After another ten minutes of leaping off small cliffs into the territory of clinging weeds, Erik got bored and pushed his way out of the water and onto the bank. The sun was still high, allowing Erik to flop down on his back in the grass and let the sun’s heat dry him slowly. He assumed it was close to half past one o’clock, giving him plenty of time to get back to his farther and finish all his chores before dinner. 

He heard light footsteps, then a drop of weight beside him. Without opening his eyes, he knew Charles was lying next to him, probably with the stupid book of his open. Erik thought about the day he’d had so far, it certainly wasn’t as bad as he’d thought it was going to be. He thought he would be brought to breaking point by the mere sound of Charles’ squeaky voice, he thought he would march back to his father and tell him that he couldn’t handle it anymore; couldn’t handle being with him anymore. He did get mad at Charles a few times, but his annoyance with the boy seemed to be thinning. He wasn’t sure if that was good or not. 

“Do you want me to read to you a bit of my book again?” A small voice spoke a little to his right. 

“No.” Erik wanted silence.

“Okay.”

He heard the crisp sounds of a page turning, so he was reading. Erik imaged Charles’ arms getting fatigued by holding the book in the air, it couldn’t be easy to read lying down, not that he would know. Erik rolled his head to the right, half opening his eyes into a weak squint. To his surprise Charles wasn’t looking at the book, he was looking at Erik. More importantly he was looking at the fading bruise on his right ribcage, the one his father gave him the other day for cleaning a spoon that accidentally projected water onto the floor. Charles’ eyes shifted from his rib to his face, his own was contoured with concern and a little bit of sympathy. 

“What happened?” 

His response almost came out before Charles had asked, trained to be said, “Fell of the horse.” 

They didn’t speak of it any further than that. They started to head back once the both of them started sweating like pigs. They step foot back onto the familiar open area of Charles’ garden, the one with the magnificent fountain in the middle and the long gravel driveway lined with tall trees. Erik turns left at the fountain, whilst Charles turns right towards his house, his picnic basket swinging silently by his side. Before Erik gets too far, Charles stops him by calling out his name. Something Charles had never said prior to now. 

_If Erik couldn’t see that he was only trying to be kind, then, he would just have to try harder._

Erik turns and faces Charles, waiting for him to say something. Charles is taken over by an overwhelming sense of gratitude, he wasn't sure if it was because Erik was currently patiently waiting for Charles to speak, allowing Charles to be heard, or if he had accompanied Charles on one of the best days of his life. 

“Do you–maybe, uhm, want to borrow some of my shoes?” Erik’s plain expression doesn’t change, it wasn’t surprising, “I think I have another pair of all-stars, the ones you like.” Somehow, Charles swore that Erik’s face softened, just the slightest.

“Alright.”

Charles almost fell over, he could hardly believe his ears. This boy, the only who was constantly so full of anger and self-dependence, agreeing to take Charles’ shoes, almost like admitting defeat. He was over the moon, he smiled brightly at the taller boy, nodding enthusiastically before bidding him farewell, “Thank you, see you tomorrow!”

Charles began running at top speed towards the villa before Erik could even; one) ask him why he had thanked Erik, and two) acknowledge the fact that Charles had already decided for them that they would spend the next day together as well.

On his way through the foyer, Charles ran into Anastasia who took his basket and asked him how his day went and if Erik liked the food he’d made. Charles was too happy to explain all the details of his day, he couldn’t find any words to describe it. “It was fantastic.” Is all he ended up saying, before running up to his room and opening the leather book on his desk, where he began spilling out his feelings onto the empty page. 

The same afternoon, whilst Erik was shining the riding boots, Erik’s father came up from behind him and clapped him on the shoulder. It made him jump, his father ignored his reaction. “How was your time with t’runt?” Erik had never questioned why his father had a German name, yet spoke with a slight southern accent and certainly used their slang. Erik was always told he’d got a lot from his mother, maybe one of those things was his accent from when she was still around.

Erik turning his head slightly to look at his father’s rough face, he was smirking in a way that made Erik feel uncomfortable under his touch. He found no point in lying, “It was boring mostly, but I swam in the dam. That was fun.” 

“There no point’n havin’ fun, boy. You’ve gotta job to take care of, and that’s keeping the little runt happy so his daddy don’t come runnin’ down here threatening to kick us out. Yes?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Good. Now, is it working?”

“Is what working?” Wrong answer. A hand harshly made its way across Erik’s right cheek and his head was thrown to the left. Erik stayed silent, but his eyes began to sting from the heat of his cheek. 

“Is the little runt happy? He’s not gonna go telling on you, is he?” 

“No, he’s not going to–“ Another wrong answer. This time Erik gasped a little.

“What was that boy?”

“No, Papa.” Right answer.

“Good boy. I’ll be out tonight, make yourself supper.” His father strode off, the clink of a lighter was heard as he walked further away. 

Erik didn’t let himself cry over a few slaps to the cheek. No, he didn’t let himself cry. Not until he knew his father wasn’t in range to be able to hear his sobs, muffled by a shoe polish covered rag. 

* * *

In the end, it was right for Charles to expect to see Erik after every passing day, for over the next few weeks, Erik and Charles spent at least three hours together every day. The two had passed the awkward stage of acquaintanceship, which Erik was glad for. Erik has by now accepted to himself that he finds it enjoyable being with Charles, there are still irritable moments, but he’s learnt that there always will be. Despite the two of them bonding smoothly and labelling themselves friends, Erik’s steely personality doesn’t change. He still stares blankly and can sometimes be considerably rude. He doesn’t try hard to let Charles in on his life; it’s as if he was an onion, there are many different layers to the boy and Charles has only _just_ peeled off the first one. Charles openly expresses his happiness with spending his days with Erik, he does it not only through his smiles, but also his eyes. 

The day after their trip to the dam, Charles greeted Erik at their meeting point with a pair of moderately new grey converse all-stars, and shin high white socks. He didn’t thank Charles, but the dark-haired boy could still tell that he was appreciative in his own way. Erik gives them back to Charles every time they depart their daily adventure, he knows he can’t afford letting his father see him wearing shoes that aren’t his, especially when he’s not working.

On Thursday Erik demonstrated to Charles how to play sticks. Erik and Charles met by the fountain again, just like they had the day before, and the one before that. Erik was carrying two sticks this time, they were as long as his arm and think enough to be a small branch. Charles was confused when Erik handed him one, he took it slowly and held it silently in both of his hands.

“What’s this for?”

Erik grinned at him, a look that Charles was training himself not to get scared at, “I’m gonna show you how to play a game.” Charles smiled at this, he hadn’t played a game with someone other than Anastasia for a very long time. 

“What’s the game called?”

“Sticks.” _Of course it was._

“How do you play?”

Erik’s grin deepened, Charles failed his earlier goal, “Like this,”

And before he knew it, Charles was being chased around the garden with a threatening stick. He had long since dropped his own weapon and went with yelling for him to stop whilst attempting to move his legs faster. Erik kept slowing down due to how hard he was laughing, a sound that Charles may have otherwise enjoyed if only he could hear it over his own screaming. Charles’ heart had never beaten faster, which only encouraged him to try and run faster. Soon he found himself leaning too far forward in desperation to escape his current horror, his legs were working full time to catch up to the rest of his body, but had failed and suddenly Charles came crashing face first into the grass. 

The impact of the ground greeting the eight-year-old’s face caused a loose tooth to be finally set free. Erik came to a stop at Charles’ feet and looked at the boy lying on his stomach, propping his head up with his elbows on the ground. He couldn’t see his face, but by the slight quivering of Charles’ body, he could tell that he was upset. He tried not to smile, he usually found it very amusing when kids got hurt. He didn’t even think about his father’s words about being a goodie goodie, whenever he was with Charles, he was consumed into another world, one that didn’t involve his father.

“Are you okay?” 

His response was a very loud wail. Charles put his hands on the ground and used his knees to stand, he turned around clutching something in his hand. His face was scrunched up in obvious distress and laughter erupted out of Erik at the sight of Charles’ red crying face. His shoulders shook with each cry and snot was thickly running down towards his upper lip, Erik had to cover his face with his hands to try and stop himself from laughing any more than he was. 

Between once incredibly loud yowl and the next, Charles soggily said, “Look what–” hiccup “you did!” Charles shoved his hand towards Erik, who peeked through the gaps between his fingers. There was a bloodied tooth lying in the cup of Charles’ palm. Now that Erik looked, he could see some blood on his lower lip, it was almost the same colour as the skin itself.

“Congratulations.” That only made Charles cry harder. 

His mother opened the doors to one of the balcony’s, she stepped outside onto the platform and peered down at the two children below. Erik quickly moved his arms behind his back and hid the stick from her.

“What’s the matter Charlie?” She yelled down, her face was as bland as Erik’s usual one. Erik had never seen his mother before, only his father. From where he was standing he could tell that that she had the same coloured eyes as her son, except hers weren’t filled with as much warmth and happiness. 

Charles twirled around to face the house, looking up at her with watering eyes. “Erik was–“ 

“–We were only playing! He tripped, _by accident_.” Charles turned his head to shoot him a hard glare, one that would usually be coming from Erik himself. 

Charles sulkily muttered a farewell to Erik and then slowly made his way towards the large doors of the house, his shoes scraping against the pavement of the stairs. Erik could still hear his hiccups by the time he’d reached the handle, it almost made him collapse into another fit of laughter. Almost. 

Charles didn’t show any signs of anger towards Erik the following day, like he’d expected. They continued as per usual, Erik was hoping for some sort of revenge act throughout the day but the thought dropped as soon as Charles discovered that Erik didn’t know how to write, which meant he didn’t know the alphabet. Charles was determined to teach him, as reading was his favourite thing ever and he felt physical despair at the thought of Erik not being able to experience that. 

After finding this out, Charles left Erik by the fountain and ran back towards the half circle shaped stairs, he almost fell over on the last step but recovered and quickly make his way across the main landing towards the doors. Erik took this time to clean out the dirt underneath his nails with his teeth, before spitting out the remains onto the ground by his shoe covered feet. Charles was suddenly in sight again, he was now clutching onto something and was moving so fast Erik was sure he would fall down the stairs that led to the main grounds. He then somehow managed to glide against the gravel onto the grass without taking a single step, it was as if he had wheels on the bottoms of his shoes. 

“That was impressive.” Erik said when Charles was finally in speaking range.

“Sit down.” He followed Charles to the ground, pulling his ridiculously short shorts down his thighs as he went. Whilst doing so, he unintentionally allowed Charles to see another one of us blooming bruises. Charles didn’t mention it this time. “I’m going to teach you the English alphabet.”

“The what?” Though his voice was slightly shocked, he remained expressionless, as always.

Charles put the things he was carrying on the grass between them, it was a book and a pen. “The alphabet. It’s a set of letters that let us know how to sound out words.” Erik showed no signs of grasping the concept, he showed no signs at all really. Charles tried to give an example. “Like your name, Erik, is made with four letters. E–R–I–K.” 

“Yeah, I know how to spell my own name.” As if to prove himself, he grabbed the book and pen, after opening to a random page, he positioned his pen and began writing his own name in breathtakingly bad hand writing. 

By the time Charles was called in for dinner, Erik had learnt at least half of the alphabet and how to pronounce each of the letters. Charles was proud to admit to himself that he was a strikingly good teacher to be able teach a boy older than him the English alphabet. Whilst Erik was taking Charles’ socks off to put back into his shoes, Charles flashed him a smile, which only made Erik look at him funny and then begin to chuckle due to his missing front tooth. He would have been mad, if it weren’t for the fact that he was left in awe at the sound of Erik’s boyish laugh. He had only heard it once before, but he was focusing more on the fact that he’d just slammed his face hard into the ground and not that his friend was finally publically laughing.

The following weekend, Erik told Charles that his father needed extra help around the estate so that they couldn’t meet few a few days. Charles decided to catch up on his time lost with Anastasia, she was more than happy to spend it with him. 

Together they visited the kitchen to bake Charles’ favourite biscuit; shortbread. The first few attempts over the week didn’t result in something edible, but that only encouraged Charles to try harder. Charles loved it when Anastasia would bake with him, flour would always end up smudged on their faces. Anastasia would laugh at the flour on Charles’ face because it camouflaged with his paleness, whereas Charles would laugh at the flour on Anastasia’s face because it reminded him of a Dalmatian. Which just so happened to be Anastasia’s favourite dog, she had said so once when her and Charles were flipping through a picture book. 

One day, Anastasia opened the door to Charles’ room, where he was sitting on his window bay reading. “When’s the last time you checked on your vegetable garden, Xarls?” Anastasia had started calling him ‘Xarls’, pronounced ‘Zarls’, since he was four and began repeating his full name to everyone he had ever met. She never called him by it when his mother was around though, Anastasia said she wouldn’t like it very much. 

Charles thought for a moment, he was taken back to when he and Erik took their trip to the dam, when he had passed it and reminded himself then too. “Not since last we went.”

“Do you think we should go check on it, then?”

“Yes, I think we should.” 

Charles the bookmark his father made for him inside his book, closed it and left it on the cushioned bay while he skipped towards the door of his room. The two of them took the outside steps two by two, excited to go and check out on how the growth of their vegies were going. They walked on the grass, past the fountain, and took a right turn so that they were following the same trail as he and Erik had only two weeks ago. Once they go to the red tool shed, Charles began to run the garden bed Anastasia had hand made for him as a secret birthday present one year. All of her secrets to him had to be kept secret, that’s what she said to him once. 

Charles halted by the wooden framing around the square shaped soil. There were things missing. “Where have all my posts gone? The ones with the vegetable names on them?”

“They're over there.” Anastasia pointed to his far left where a small pile of signs was lying, the ones labelling each plant. “The fencing is gone too; do you think an animal ate them?” 

Charles was suddenly reminded of the first time he left Erik, when he’d been surprised at seeing Erik walking towards the direction of the vegetable garden rather than his own home. At that time, he had even presumed that Erik was going towards the unknown garden. It seemed possible enough for Erik to be the one responsible for taking the posts and twine from his garden, without intending to steal that was. 

There must have been a certain expression on Charles’ face while he thought because Anastasia delicately put a hand on each of his shoulders and rubbed them, saying kindly, “It’s okay, we can always make new ones.” Charles nodded, turned to smile at her warmly in appreciation. 

The next time Erik saw Charles it had been three days since Charles was convinced Erik took his garden bed accessories. Charles was sitting under his favourite tree reading, this time thankfully wearing a hat despite already being in the shade of the tree’s leaves. Erik got his father’s permission to go see Charles whilst he continued doing the day’s work by the stalls. 

Charles was so engrossed in his book that he didn’t hear nor see Erik walk up to him, it wasn’t until he saw a pair of bare feet in between his arched knees that he looked up to be faced with a vacant looking Erik. 

“Hello there.” 

Erik didn’t reply, he nodded at him though. That was enough for Charles. 

Charles put down his book and stood up, following Erik as he walked into the sunlight towards the glimmering fountain. He was holding something in his hand, it was as big as his foot. Once they got to the statue, they both sat on the ledge and turned their chests to face each other.

“What’s that?” Charles asked, looking at what Erik was holding.

“I made it.” He handed it over to Charles, this time with a tiny smile playing on his lips. Charles took it with interest and turned it carefully in his hands. 

“It’s a train, I love trains.” He exclaimed excitedly, Charles loved trains. Erik nodded again, his smile growing more noticeable. “Do you like trains as well?”

“Yeah, they’re super cool. Like how they can follow along a track and move by themselves.”

“Mhm. And they’re massive as well, I bet it would be great to be a train driver.” 

“I’ve always wanted to be a train driver, like Mr Perkins in Thomas the Train Engine.”

Charles could do nothing but agree, and soon the two were in a very passionate discussion about how amazing trains were. It was the first time they had both spoken to each other about something that they personally took interest in. It took Charles a quite long time to realise that the structure of the train was made from the missing posts in his vegetable garden. 

“Erik, is this made from my vegetable garden’s posts?” Charles asks after a pause in the conversation. Erik suddenly tenses, snatching the train back from Charles’ hands. He doesn’t say anything, which isn’t unusual. Charles notices that a blush is making its way up his neck and his ears have already turned a flushed colour. Erik is embarrassed. 

This makes Charles laugh lightly, he holds his hands in the air. “Hey, it’s okay. We made new ones anyway and I think it’s better that you used them to make a train rather than not making it at all.” Erik doesn’t say anything, he keeps his head low and refuses to look at Charles’ forgiving eyes. Charles tried again, “Erik, it’s okay, seriously.” Erik shifts at the sound of his name in Charles’ accent, it sounds posh. Charles tries harder, “If you wanted– do you want to look at my trains?” Now Erik looks up. 

Charles takes Erik’s wrist and drags him away from the fountain, Erik stumbles at first, Charles can move faster than he thinks. Suddenly, Erik’s feet are at the first step of the outside stairs, they’re patterned with a thin layer of dark, circular mould patches. Charles’ hand is still clasped around his wrist and he’s being successfully pulled up the stairs. They reach the door and Erik breaks free from Charles’ grip, which startles him and he turns around.

“I can’t come inside,” He lifts his shoulders a little as if it was obvious the entire time that it would be wrong for Erik to step foot inside Charles’ household.

“Why not?”

“My father won’t like it if I come in.” He wouldn’t like it, he would hate it.

“He won’t know about it, my mother is in her room, the maids aren’t here today and my father is working. No one’s going to see you.” The mention of not only multiple maids, but a maid in general disgusted Erik. He is suddenly greeted with many thoughts encouraging him to push Charles away and yell at him for being so well-off. Erik tried hard to look Charles in the face and push down those thoughts, to remind himself that Charles didn’t get to decide which family he was brought up in, nor how comfortably they lived.

Charles must have realised that what he said had affected Erik, because his cheerful face dropped and he looked at Erik apologetically. “Erik,” There he goes again with saying Erik’s name with his ridiculous accent, “I’m–“

“–Where’s your room?” As needy as Erik was, he couldn’t stand hearing Charles apologise to him; not after he had knowingly been rude to him for weeks and still be treated with kindness, certainly not after he had stolen his belongings to make use for his own entertainment. 

For some reason, Charles looked grateful, he smiled through frowning eyes and led Erik through the door. Charles took his shoes off whilst Erik tried to rub off any dirt on his feet. Erik didn’t let himself look around, he didn’t want to see it. His stomach felt worryingly absent and his throat stupidly tight. Charles noticed that Erik was walking with his head down, as if pretending he weren’t here. Charles had no one else to blame but himself for Erik’s discomfort, he was becoming sadly familiar with the feeling of being less of a person. They made their way up an agonizingly long winding staircase, for both of them. 

Neither spoke until Charles reached his bedroom door along the upstairs hall, he opened it and Erik followed him in. It wasn’t a very large bedroom, it was most definitely bigger than Erik’s though, but it wasn’t as bad as he was excepting. The air seemed to clear once they were alone in his room, Charles reached under his dreamy bed and pulled out a box.

Erik sat down next to the box along with Charles and opened it, it was full of model vehicle boxes. It was the best thing Erik had ever seen. Stubbornly, Erik didn’t touch them at first, but with many looks from Charles inviting him to play with whichever one he wanted, he reached in and pulled a yellow rectangular box out.

Erik set it on the ground and looked at its label that was printed in spaced out black letters on the top. His finger underlined the first word. “D–I–… Dink.” 

Charles sputtered out a sudden laugh, “I almost forgot you’d only learnt half of the alphabet. It says Dinky Toys, that’s the toy company.” 

Erik lifted the lid and was forced to hold back an enthusiast squeal. Inside was the most beautiful train model he’s ever seen, it was a diesel engine train. Erik picked it up slowly, bringing it closer to his face and observing the smoke box on the front of the pine coloured engine. The whistle was painted with an emerald colour and Erik smiled at how a bit of paint overlapped onto the original colour, as if the artist’s hand had shaken unexpectedly. 

“It–it says ‘express passenger train’, by the way.” Charles didn’t bother reading it off the packaging, he knew it off by heart, his eyes were busy being glued to Erik’s face entirely. Erik nodded, he didn’t look at Charles. He had been engulfed by his own imagination and ambiance, Charles admired his look of wonderment towards the figurine. 

That night, after Charles had brushed his teeth and finished writing the day’s events in his leather book, he lay sitting in bed, waiting for his mother to come in and wish him a good night like she did every night. He distracted himself to pass the time by attempting to predict what the next chapter of his book would be able. He wondered if Mr Fox would get his tail back, he wondered if it was realistic for a fox to survive without a tail. Charles fell asleep to the thought of a tail-less fox and its tail-less cubs, they looked more like bears in his head. And only in the morning did Charles realise that his mother had never came in to kiss his forehead and tell him good night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter for the summer of 1980.


	3. Keep Your Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is now the summer of 1981, a year after Charles and Erik first formally met. They build on their budding friendship and decide to spend more than just the summer together this year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> please do leave me nice comments so i can find the strength to write another 10k word chapter. i have all the chapters planned! i need fuel for my fingerrsss
> 
> thank you, i love you . alll.

_June, 1981 — Chapter Three_

After summer break ended, Charles and Erik saw less of each other. Charles was busied with his extension work from school, but also the work his tutor assigned him to every afternoon after his two-hour lesson. He didn’t have much time to wander around looking for Erik. Charles spotted him around the grounds a few times over the next year, sometimes he would yell out his name and wave. Charles was glad he never trusted Erik to return his greeting, because he never did. He had learnt over their few weeks of talking that Erik wasn’t one to reply very often; unless expressionless staring was a reply, but Charles didn’t think it was. Charles didn’t have many expectations when it came to Erik, he had become his first friend and as long as he would be there during the summer for Charles; he didn’t mind what Erik did and didn’t do. 

Erik, however, returned to his sulky state after the summer ended. He had just begun to get used to Charles and enjoy his company, then it all ended and Erik was back to his dull life. He was working almost every hour of the day and was beaten almost every hour of the night; sometimes his body would let him pass out before it became too painful, and sometimes he was forced to keep feeling until it was over. 

Charles spent the Christmas of 1980 surrounded by his family and their friends, he was lavished with gifts from people that he was sure he’d never even seen before. They all commented on how he had grown and asked about his school work, which shouldn’t have been something to ask any other eight-year-old, but for Charles, it was most interesting. Charles was given a mug of thick eggnog, which he strongly decided that he dislikes, and received more than one intriguing book from his fellow ‘I-don’t-know-who-you-are’ guests. 

Erik spent the Christmas of 1980 surrounded by no one. His father was off drinking in some nearby bar, Erik was old enough to know that he was also probably trying to get in some girl’s pants while he was at it. Erik couldn’t stand being stuck in the house anymore, so he ventured out to go sit with the horses. He could hear Christmas music playing faintly, he didn’t have to turn his head to seek out where it was coming from, he already knew. Erik tried not to think back to when Charles had a birthday and Erik could hear the singing back then as well. The bruises on his knuckles the next morning, thankfully, weren’t from his father. At least it was better than last year’s Hanukkah. 

Winter passed quickly and Anastasia made sure to check on Charles daily to see if he was wearing his extra thick socks and the scarf his father had knitted him. All of the vegetables in Charles’ garden died from the cold, Charles cried for two days over it. Charles’ primary school informed all of their students that they now much wear their winter uniform to school. All the kids in his class were whining over how ugly the pants were or how the stockings were too itchy, another factor of his everyday schooling life that made Charles feel indifferent from his peers. 

Winter passed slowly, Erik spent the majority of it doing the work issued for his father; except he didn’t usually wake until half past noon, which left Erik to do it. His father’s drinking had long since escalated into something quite dangerous, Erik may have been at an age to know what sex was, but he had no idea how to handle his own father’s behaviour. 

New Year’s consisted of Charles throwing a tantrum because his mother wouldn’t let him watch the fireworks, she said that he had to be in bed asleep by the time 1981 came. His father came into his room at 12:57 and quietly ushered Charles out of bed and onto the balcony, where they both stood side by side and watched neon colours explode loudly in the sky. Brian held his son close that night. Charles didn’t know where his mother was, nor why they weren’t spending it with her. 

New Year’s was peaceful, Erik spent it sitting on the wooden fencing of the paddock, shivering like a new-born mule. He was wearing the only type of clothes he had, a torn long-sleeved shirt and shorts. He didn’t mind being cold though, he was waiting for the sudden burst of colour he’d been looking forward to all year. His father was out again, but before he left he had handed Erik three pounds. 

“For your work with that kid, you did well.” He had said. Erik had smiled then, he was proud of himself, proud that he’d received a compliment from his own father. Three pounds was a bloody well lot and he tucked it away in the crack of his bedroom wall, hidden from himself and his father.

March hit Charles in the face like the ground. Spring had finally arrived the Charles could wear his summer uniform again. The birds were out, flowers were beginning to blossom, the sun was welcoming itself back into everyone’s lives. Most importantly, Charles didn’t have to use warm water to wash his hands anymore, the cold water had finally stopped burning as if it was hot. Charles couldn’t wait until June. 

March hit Erik in the face like a dandelion in a breeze, it was gentle. Erik enjoyed the new season to the best of his ability. He woke early most mornings due to the sun rising, he would get most of the hard tasks completed by noon and spend the rest of his afternoon exploring the countryside. Erik learnt the names of several new plants in March. His father toned down the beatings during spring, he wasn’t sure why. Erik could wait until June. 

June came around for both of them, which meant that summer was back. The sun was almost constantly out, there were never any clouds in sight and the sky was incredibly blue. Quilts and duvets were tossed to the ends of beds, fresh lemonade was introduced again, even the glass of windows was beginning to heat up. The day that Charles’ school was officially sent off on summer break, was possibly the most exciting day Charles had ever experienced. Although he was last to receive his report thanks to his ridiculously spelt surname, he was first out of the door, first to find his own mother in a crowd of many other mothers and first to be driven out of the school’s parking lot. Inside the car, his mother was confused.

“Why are you in such a big rush, Charlie?”

“I can’t keep Erik waiting long, he’ll get bored.”

“Why will you keep Erik waiting? You haven’t seen him for almost an entire year, darling.”

“It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, we’re going to spend summer break playing together again. He’ll be waiting for me when we get back. Can we drive any faster?”

She laughed quietly at his plead, “Are you sure he will be there Charles? I wouldn’t want you to get your hopes up too much, don’t be upset if he’s not there today. Erik might be busy.” Her voice lowered when saying the last part.

“What do you mean don’t get your hopes up too much?”

“Forget that, it’s alright.”

“I won’t get upset.”

“I know you won’t.” His mother’s voice was laced with a sadness that Charles couldn’t understand. Charles couldn’t understand a lot of things about his mother.

Once home, Charles boosted himself out of the car door and sped across the gravel to reach the door to his house. He didn’t bother taking his shoes off at the door, despite being yelled at several times, he knew he would be needed them on again in only a few minutes. Running up the many stairs to his room was a small struggle, having to carry a school bag full of books by his side unbalanced him a bit and his foot slipped on a step, causing his shin to strike hard against the edge of the stair. Charles screamed in pain, fighting back the tears that threatened to reveal themselves, he was too old for that. He continued on his way, swinging his bedroom door open and flinging the leather school bag across the room, not caring where it landed nor what was damaged inside. He could always buy a new one. 

Charles ran back downstairs and ran outside. Charles didn’t stop running until he reached the fountain. Minutes passed and Charles moved from standing by to be sitting atop of the fountain’s ledge. Where was Erik? Had he become bored and forgotten? Charles strained his eyes to see if Erik was wandering down by the edges of the property, he wasn’t. Charles took it upon himself to search for his friend, he strode past the fountain and continued along the grass. Charles had walked so far, he’d found himself by the paddocks and animal stalls that could only be seen from his bedroom window. The shed doors were opened, advertising their boxes full of chopped wood and hay. Charles tried calling out his friend’s name. He was surprised to get a response. 

It came from a shack nearby, it was a little off to the side of the rest of the sheds that made were positioned in a semi-circle. The fencing of the paddock was only a few metres away from the side of the shack. It was made of old wood and looked as if it could crumble at any moment. Despite it being unbelievably bright outside, the shack was engulfed in a dark aroma. Charles’ heart sped up erratically, he took a few feeble steps towards the shack.

“E–Erik? Are you in there?”

After a few moments filled with Charles’ quiet, yet fast, breathing, a tall man flung the shack door open, it creaked noisily and slammed loudly against the side of the ‘house’. His voice was gruff when he spoke, “Whatta’ you want, boy?”

He had dark blonde hair, a dirty looking colour; one that looked like it was once shining like Rapunzel’s but unfortunately got mud rubbed through it. The only other person Charles had seen with that hair was Erik. Charles straightened at the sight of the old man, he shifted from foot to foot in nervousness.

“I–I, uhm, sorry, I was just looking for Erik.” His voice shook embarrassingly. From what Charles could see, the man had a pot-belly, just like the one he’d read about. His hands were large and thick looking, Charles was suddenly afraid that his man would strangle him with them. Charles didn’t have time to worry about such nonsense, he had yet to locate where his stomach went.

“He ain’t here, now get goin’ before I tell your daddy about this.” The man flicked his wrist towards the small boy, “Shoo boy. Off you go.” 

Charles didn’t need to be told twice. He apologised again and then spun around on his heel, causing loose dirt underneath his foot to create a cloud in the air, and scattered away. Charles sped walk all the way back to the fountain in what seemed like under a minute. Luckily for him his heart had slowed down and his flush from before had disappeared by the time he’d entered his house, no one questioned where he had been.

Erik came back to the house that night with wet hair. His father was waiting for him at the table, leaning back on an almost broken chair with his boot clad feet up on the wooden surface. The moment Erik stepped foot inside, his father beckoned him over with his index finger.

“Boy?” He didn’t sound angry.

“Yes Papa?”

“Do you know what time it is?”

Since neither of them had a watch or clock available, Erik look behind him at the still open door, the sun was beginning to go down. He made an assumption, “Somewhere around eight, probably, I think.” 

His father blinked at him, somehow it came off as aggressive, “No. You stupid fucking idiot.” Erik flinched, “What time is it here?” 

Oh. _Oh._ “Summer time, Papa.” 

Erik’s father took his feet off of the table. He sat up normally and rested his hands on the wood, as if reminded Erik of what those hands could do if he didn’t do as he was told. “Yes. And what are you supposed to do in summer time?” Erik audibly swallowed, “Huh?” 

“I’m supposed to be with– “

He slammed his fists down onto the table. Erik’s feet left the ground for a split second. His father began to yell, loudly. “I can’t fucking hear you, boy!” 

“I’m supposed to be with Master Xavier’s boy.” 

“Oh! So you do know?” Erik couldn’t find his voice anymore, instead he nodded grimly. “Then where was you today? Huh?” Erik’s heart was drumming in his ears, if his father weren’t screaming, he surely wouldn’t be able to hear him because of all the blood flowing. “Where was you today when that scum came to our door yelling out your name?” Erik pathetically gaped at his father, who was now standing and advancing slowly on the boy. “Your hair’s all wet, boy. The fuck’s your hair wet for?” 

“I was swimming in t–the dam.” He had indeed been swimming in the dam, it was different being alone.

Erik thought he could hear his father’s voice vibrate the ground it was so loud. “Why the fuck was you swimming in the dam instead of being with that squeaky runt of yours?”

“I don’t know, I don’t know, Papa. I’m s–sorry.” 

“We live in the dirt, son. When that fag-bag up in the sparklin’ house of his asks us to take care of his own mutt’s loneliness, whatta’ you think we’re supposed to do?” 

He couldn’t speak. Erik didn’t know he was crying until his snot and tears were running endlessly into his open mouth. Through blurry eyes, Erik saw that his father softened, although it looked faux. His father had now reached him and brought his arms up in what was supposed to be a comforting gesture, but only frightened Erik more.

“Now, now. We don’t want you upset, do we?” Erik was wrapped up in a cold embrace, one involving being drenched in the stench of burnt plastic and ferment. His father continued speaking into his hair, “Stop your crying, boy.” 

It was almost as if through all the years of pain, Erik had still not learnt anything about the man cradling him. It was almost as if his trust for his father renewed after each beating. When later thinking about on it, Erik was confused as to why he leant into his father’s touch, or why he had felt oddly comforted by his very own abuser.

Charles and Erik met the next day, which just so happened to be extremely hot despite it only just beginning to be summer. Charles had just finished his last lesson of tutoring, it had been early session and had been irritated when his mother insisted he wore his school uniform like he usually would. Erik had initiated the meet just as his father had instructed, and he found Charles sitting on the steps leading towards his patio. The frail looking boy visibly jumped up at the sight of Erik walking towards him, they met each other halfway. 

“Erik,” His smile was insufferably big and Erik surprisingly felt guilt.

“Hey.” Charles’ smile dropped at his reply and instead of finding pleasure out of his discomfort, as Erik would have done if it were a year earlier, he worried that he’s already said the wrong thing. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” The boy laughed lightly, “I’m not used to you speaking back to me, is all.”

“Speaking back? I didn’t speak back to you, I– “ 

Charles quickly cut him off. “No, no. Replying, sorry, I meant replying.” Charles smiled gently as if luring Erik into something; possibly a friendship. Something that had been very one-sided since the two met. “Where were you yesterday?”

Erik dropped his gaze, “I was working, I forgot.” 

Charles smiles at him, despite knowing Erik couldn’t see it, “That’s okay.” Charles hands Erik a rectangular shaped brown paper bag, it looked full with something stiff and hard. Tentatively, he took into his own hands. “Merry late Christmas, Erik.” 

Erik held onto it tightly, as if it were slipping away, he had never received a wrapped gift before. Erik didn’t hesitate to open the bag and peek inside. He pulled the item out, displaying it for Charles, who couldn’t have looked more excited if he’d tried. It was a book.

“But, I don’t know how to read.”

Charles raised his palms and held them up in a surrendering motion, “I know, but this is a comic book. It’s full of pictures, I thought you could look at the drawings. Then, maybe, I could read out some of the words for you. It would help you with learning the alphabet too, reading is very good for you.” 

Erik slowly eased into a smile; one that bared his newly grown adult teeth, Charles found himself a little jealous. The shark-like smile would have to get getting used to. “Yeah, okay.” 

A bead of sweat rolled down the side of Charles’ face, he knew that his hair would be moist and most likely have curled tips by this point. Erik’s hairline was also damp, and although his hair was shorter than Charles’, he could tell that the nape of his neck was also wet with sweat by the way he frequently brushed his hand back there, then wiped it on his already dirty t-shirt. Every time either of them would move a limb, they would be reminded of the scorching air that pushed against their skin. It was claustrophobic. 

Erik looked around or a moment in the mutual silence, then turned back to face Charles, “It’s really hot.” Charles nodded, he could feel the tickling sensation of a drop of sweat escaping the wetness of the underside of his chin. “Do you wanna go to the dam now?” 

“Yes, please.” 

The two of them walked side by side towards the little trail further down the grass covered grounds, just like they had a year before. This time, Charles let Erik take the lead. He found ease in watching Erik’s bare feet from behind, skipping past hurtful looking stones and dodging roots emerging from the ground. Just like Charles had done, Erik was brushing his hand through all of the tall plants growing on the side of the trail. Some of the loose pollen and flowers would glide away from the body of the plant and swirl around in the air, sometimes ending up in Charles’ face. He sneezed. Erik blessed him. Charles had the urge to itch his eyes, they were feeling very irritated. He dug his fingers into the inner corner of his eye, hoping to relieve some of the itchiness, but it only made them itchier. 

Charles decided to make conversation to pass the time, he spoke a little louder than usual, hoping Erik could hear him fine. 

“Can I ask you a question?”

“Depends.”

“When’s your birthday?”

“In July,” he called back over his shoulder, “July the tenth.” 

Charles gasped in delight, “My birthday is in July too! Mine’s the se–“

“–The seventeenth, I know.”

“How do you know that?” There was a short pause.

“I heard your family singing to you last year.” Erik was glad Charles couldn’t see his face.

“You should have come up and had cake with us, we had a wonderful time.”

“I didn’t know you then.”

“Oh, of course.” Another pause. Charles was sure this was the end of the conversation.

“Can I ask you a question?”

Charles smiled faintly, “Depends.” Pause.

“No, never mind.”

“No, go ahead, you can ask.” Pause.

“Okay.” Pause. “How old did you turn that night?”

“I turned eight. How old are you?” Charles already knew the answer, but wanted to be fair.

“Nine. I’m going to be ten this year.” 

Charles’ chest was bursting. Erik seemed so different compared to last year, he spoke so much more to him and seemed to have let down his fierce guard just the slightest. Charles believed that he may just have peeled through another layer of this grey-eyed onion. 

They reached the clearing in no time, luckily the tree they sat under last time was still being showered with precious shade. Erik dropped the comic book Charles had bought for him on the grass, he then began stripping. Charles hurried over and pulled Erik’s arms back down from where they were trying to lift his shirt over his head. Erik started at the contact and pulled away quickly, his arms looking uncomfortably folded over his chest, still stuck in his shirt.

“Can I show you the book first? Please? I can’t join you in the water, so I’ll be waiting for an hour before you even open it.” Erik thought for a moment before rearranging his arms and fixing his shirt. He agreed and sat down with his back against the thick trunk. Charles joined him and Erik looked over at him before frowning.

“Why are you crying?”

Charles widened his eyes, the very ones that he would have very much liked to scrape out with a spoon. “I’m not. What do you mean?”

Erik leaned in a little closer, staring intensely into Charles’ eye before squinting in thought, “They’re all red and watery, like you’ve been crying.”

Erik also then noticed that Charles’ eyes were impeccably blue. The bluest blue Erik had ever come across. It was almost sickening; a cloudless spring sky had emptied itself into the irises of this boy’s eyes. Erik decided that they matched Charles; they matched the carob colouring of his wavy hair, the rosiness of his constantly flushed cheeks against marble skin, and the candy red of his lips.

Charles continued, “I haven’t been… _Oh._ Mother told me a few weeks ago in spring that the doctor says I’ve got allergies, to, uhm, to some things.” He wasn’t really sure what he was allergic to, but now that he remembers clearly, his mother had warned him that his eyes might get itchy.

“I think it’s called hay fever.”

“Yes, that’s it. Hay fever.”

“I used to get it when I was really little, but I grew out of it because I spent so much time with hay.” 

“Do you think mine will go away if I spent time with hay?”

Erik shrugged, finally, he looked back down at the book.

Together they rested the left page on Charles’s right arched knee and the right page of Erik’s arched left knee. Erik pointed to the cover of the book, which had an outstretched hand with claws coming from the fresh by the knuckles, and asked what it said. “It says ‘Wolverine Origin’.” Erik flipped the first few pages until he got to the actual story. After a few minutes, Charles noticed that Erik was quite content with the illustrations and was looking at them with interest. Sometimes he would ask Charles what the text in the panel read, and he would read it for him. 

Erik was almost halfway through the comic when Charles winced at one of the drawings. “What?”

Charles scrunched up his face in displease, “The blood – it’s gross. I can’t look at that.” 

“The blood’s the cool bit,” Erik said, turning the page back to point at a certain coloured square, “See, look. He’s got claws, that’s awesome.” Charles looked at Erik and shook his head, still sporting the disgust painting his facial features, “Sometimes to be awesome, there needs to be blood.” 

Charles couldn’t help but break into a smile at his absurdity. Charles’ smile dropped once his body alarmed him of overheating, every crevasse of his body was accompanied by a puddle of sweat. He sighed loudly, feeling a little lightheaded. It was very humid. “It’s too hot.”

Erik was the first to get up. He took his shirt off and dropped it by his feet, then shifted his eyes to Charles, who wasn’t moving. “You’re not going to get in this time either?”

“I’ve told you twice now, I can’t–“

“You don’t have to swim, but that doesn’t mean you can’t get in.” Charles frowned a little. “You can at least go up to your waist without having to float.” 

Charles pondered this, then stood up from below the tree and began taking his clothes off too. He saw Erik chuckle at him a little when his fingers stumbled whilst taking his tie off. 

“What’s school like?”

Charles lifted his tie over his head, “You don’t go?” Erik shook his head. Charles thought for a moment, “School is… difficult. The work is easy, it’s fun. But it’s hard to make friends with the kids in my class. No one likes a show off.” Charles tried to make it sound like a joke, but Erik saw straight through his painful smile. Erik wanted to ask what being a ‘show off’ meant at school and why Charles found it hard to be friends with other kids. But they left it there.

Erik’s clothes were easy to dispose of, but Charles had buttons to be unbuttoned and buckles to be unbuckled. Charles untied his shoe laces and slipped his knee-high socks neatly into each shoe, Erik pulled his white shorts down to his ankles, Charles slipped his sky-blue shirt down his shoulders. Erik removed his underwear. Charles removed his underwear. 

Erik amused himself by thinking back to when he’d seen Charles’ paleness as a negative, but now it was only humorous. Where Erik’s thighs were tanned, Charles’ were pasty, where Erik’s chest was golden, Charles’ was blinding and painted with light freckles. 

Charles had never seen another boy naked before, his father, yes, but not another boy around his age. To Charles’ surprise, Erik’s body looked almost exactly the same as his, except he was darker and had a longer, leaner torso. Erik was skinnier than Charles, he thought it was probably because the elder had grown more than himself. Although, his friend did have something that he didn’t. There were markings all over his body, some faded and old looking, some dark and eye catching. It was as if the fresh ones were yelling out his name for help, to be noticed and acknowledged. A small part of Charles, one that he didn’t listen to, told him that Erik was in danger and needed assistance, there was something wrong. Charles averted his eyes and didn’t think about it anymore, he had learnt last year not to ask about such things.

They both looked down at each other’s private parts, giggling and pointing. It was lucky they were still children, for their minds were still young and immature. They didn’t consider any seriousness to anything, not body figure, nor life.

Stark naked, the boys faced the water. Erik turned his head to Charles, who in return turned his head to Erik. Neither of them smiled, but Erik held out his hand, “Shall we?” 

Charles grabbed it tightly, his nervousness was being sent straight to his knees, which threatened to collapse at any given moment. “We shall.”

Erik began running first, he started dragging Charles a little behind him. The two of them sped towards the water’s bank. Charles’ heart was racing, more so to when he had run into the pot-bellied man. The beautifully coloured water got closer and closer, they were so near to it when Erik yelled something a second before his feet kicked off the ground. Charles couldn’t come with him. The smaller boy halted at the water’s edge and let go of Erik’s hand breaths before it was too late and he would be pulled in straight after him. He watched his friend fly through the air, flashing his bare arse, and into the water with an explosive splash. It made Charles laugh when Erik’s head came to the surface, his usually all-over-the-place hair was matted to his forehead in a fringe. Erik spat out some water and smiled back at Charles. Erik didn’t seem angry that Charles hadn’t jumped in with him, instead he encouraged Charles to take small steps into the water.

“You’ve taken a bath before, haven’t you?”

“Of course I’ve taken a bath.” 

“Great, then it’s just like that. It feels the same, except the water’s cold and the space isn’t as small.”

After a few minutes of relentless persuasive talking on Erik’s side, Charles finally made it into the water. Erik clapped for him once he had made it in, it made Charles smile involuntarily. He didn’t dare let the water line go past his ribcage, and was content with pretending to go deeper by squatting underwater. The water was amazing. It was fresh and cooling against Charles’ skin and he wanted more than anything to dip his head under like Erik could, and float on the glimmering surface to enjoy both the sky and the water carelessly. But he couldn’t do any of that, if he was to take his feet off of the ground, he would surely begin to panic and thrash around helplessly until he swallowed enough liquid to drown. 

Erik splashed water at him first, he was always first, and Charles reacted playfully. Soon they were in a very heated match of ‘who can create the largest wave of water with only one arm’. The two of them spun around in the water as fast as they could, leaving their arm outstretched a tad below the surface to make a mini tsunami. The droplets sparkled in the air when either boy would throw water up at the other. Erik swore that the attacks were played out in slow motion, it was as if he could predict Charles’ movements and exactly where each would land. It was like an action movie. He couldn’t help but laugh whenever Charles would, it was an invitation to let all his concerns go and join in on his world of incautiousness. Erik hadn’t felt this unguarded and free since being with his mother. 

Erik left Charles in the main section while he climbed upon the slippery ledges. The water falling off the edge didn’t avoid Erik’s feet, it gushed around them and sometimes would spill over his toes. Standing up high, he looked down on Charles and held his fist up, in return, Charles held his hand to his forehead, elbow bent. He was saluting Erik. The auburn-haired boy whooped and then jumped off and canon balled into the pool below, sending large ripples towards Charles. 

After a little longer of being in the water, Charles and Erik decided to get out and lie down on the grass in the still blazing sun. The two boys lay still next to each other for half an hour. Charles had been reading to Erik but when he turned his head, he saw that his companion was asleep, so he put the comic down and dozed off also. 

Erik woke with Charles hitting his shoulder lightly. It wasn’t hot anymore, if anything it was starting to get a little cold. The air was fresh and once Erik opened his eyes, realised that the sky was beginning to darken. He sat up quickly, looking at the boy next to him, who’s hair had dried and was unbelievably curly. 

“What time is it?” He asked, his throat closing a little at the thought of his father being mad.

“I don’t know. I just woke up but I think we should be going now, it’s gotten late.” 

“Yeah, okay.”

Erik stood up with the help of Charles and they made their way over to the tree. No wonder Erik had been chilled, he still wasn’t wearing any clothes. The water had turned dark and didn’t slow any of its usual magical aqua glow, the underneath of trees were dark and casted gloomy shadows. It looked to be around seven o’clock. Erik slipped his shorts and t-shirt back on as fast as he could, then silently urged Charles to go quicker as he waited for him to rearrange his tie and put his school shoes back on. The boy didn’t look very worried to be out so late without letting his parents know where he was, they would probably be worried sick for him. Erik’s father would be glad if Erik went missing and never came home, he would forget he even had a son. 

Charles was in front when walking the trail this time. Throughout the entire trip Erik was planning how to sneak back into the house without his father knowing. He didn’t have a window to his room so he would have to go through the front door, but that was far too noisy. He tried not to admit it to himself, to make it seem less real, but Erik knew that he would be beaten tonight. After being good for so long, the horror would be burnt into his skin once more tonight as soon as he appeared before his father. Looking ahead, he saw the back of Charles’ head. He immediately felt a pang of jealousy. He bet Charles doesn’t get abused by his father. 

The boy stopped short once they stepped foot back onto the main grounds, Erik began to walk past him but Charles grabbed his wrist without looking. 

“Erik.”

It wasn’t a question, so he didn’t answer with one. 

“Yes.”

“Look.” 

Erik followed Charles’ eye line into the sky overhead, it was turning purple. There were sharp shapes gliding past the dull collage of colours, they were black and angular looking. Watching them, Erik’s concerns slowly drained away, it was like he was back in the water and had entered another world, one introduced by Charles. Erik took to his side to look at Charles, his face wasn’t blank, but full of fascination and contentment. Erik slipped his wrist out of Charles’ grip and repositioned it so that they were holding hands. They found a certain calm in each other, Erik and Charles. They both drew out the peace from the other, and as the two of them stood together, staring up into the dark sky watching the silhouettes of bats fly past; they had yet to realise that they both needed each other equally as much as the other. 

Charles spoke through the silence, “You’ll spend Christmas with us this year, won’t you?”

“It’s only June.”

“I know, I want to have Christmas with you.”

“I don’t–…” Erik’s eyes locked on one particular bat, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Please, Erik. We can have Christmas cookies and open presents, and I can show you my new train. It will be really fun; mother and father won’t mind at all. They’re very happy that I have a friend here now, they would love for you to come. Oh, please.”

Erik didn’t let himself think about his knowledge of the deal he and Charles’ father had made last year, so instead he sighed, “Alright.”

“Do you promise?”

Erik couldn’t promise anything. He let go of Charles’s hand, left the calm embrace, gave him one last thankful smile in the darkness and walked away towards his father’s house. 

Once he arrived there his father greeted him by unfastening his belt. He instructed Erik to get on the ground, on all fours. Then he lashed at him with the leather strip, striking him on the back and sides as the belt curled around his quivering body. He screamed and cried, but he knew better than to make noise, it only made it worse. His father kicked him in the ribs twice before he reconsidering, Erik knew more than anyone that his father wouldn’t risk him breaking anything. That would mean Erik would need medical help, and his father didn’t have the creative mind to form valid excuses. After the tortuous session, Erik lay on the ground of his room. He was relieved that he once again felt an empty void inside of him, no one was there to comfort him, not his horrid father or his deceased mother. Not even his only friend. It was a familiar feeling, he hadn’t felt it in a while since being with Charles. It felt like home, being alone.

When Charles got home, his father yelled at him and didn’t stop until Charles was crying. What made him cry was the fact that his mother was standing in the corner of the foyer with no emotion in her eyes. He was both mad and upset that his mother didn’t have the dignity to tell him off also, it proved to him that she didn’t care whether or not he had gone missing, or better yet, died. He wanted her to be angry with him, to express through painful words and insults that she still cared, even the slightest. Charles went to his room with no dinner after that, or rather he was ordered to his room. Despite being immediately surrounded by maids who attempted to comfort him, hushing loving things into his ear and combing his hair; Charles had never felt more alone. He didn’t care for their warmth or his father’s understanding and apologetic eyes. He wanted to be out of the house with his books, with Erik, in a world he so longed to live in. 

Erik and Charles met every day during June, it was their routine. The only day they didn’t spend together the following month was Charles’ birthday, where he was kept inside by relatives his mother decided to invite over. The only time he was allowed outside was to the car so that they could take a trip to the bookstore. Charles wanted nothing more than to spend the day like he had a year before, but this time he wouldn’t have been reading alone. For Erik’s birthday, they visited the dam again and he and Charles snacked on the shortbread biscuits that Anastasia had snuck for them.

Erik was late to meet him the day after. Outside was bright and the air stuck to their skin, the grass had never been greener and the trees were deadly still in the non-existent breeze. Charles already had a sweat moustache. Erik headed towards Charles and he noticed that the taller boy was limping. Charles didn’t want to say anything, he wouldn’t do anything to intentionally anger his friend, but as soon as he saw Erik’s left eye, he couldn’t help it. 

“What is that?” He asked furiously, pointing to the purple mess that was Erik’s eye.

Erik shook his head, “It’s nothing, I was, I accidentally tripped and hit it on one of the posts back at– “

“Erik!” Charles took a step closer and inspected the eye closely. A burgundy and deep purple colour blossomed around his slightly swollen eye. “Stop lying to me, tell me exactly what happened.” 

Erik looked a little strained, “It was my father. I asked what was for dinner.”

“And he hit you?”

“I’m not allowed to ask stupid questions.”

“That’s not a stupid question, Erik, it’s not.” Charles leaned a little closer, his breath was tickling Erik’s chin, “May I?” Erik shrugged, it wasn’t a yes or a no. Charles drew his hand up and very lightly touched the skin around Erik’s eye. Erik winced slightly but didn’t pull away. Whilst doing so, Charles also noticed that Erik’s eyes had miraculously changed from being a hard grey, to a breath-taking green-blue in over a night. Charles continued to gently press against the wound until Erik sucked in a sharp breath and leant away. “Sorry, did I hurt you?”

“Yeah, that’s fine.” 

“I don’t think you should be with your father anymore.” Charles peered at him, concerned.

“Where else do you think I can go? I have to live with him.”

“You can stay with us for a bit.”

“No, I can’t.”

“We have so many spare rooms, you can bring some of your clothes with you and stay in there. My father will talk to yours and he’ll never– “

“I don’t want your help! I’m fine and there’s nothing we can do about it. It’s my fault anyway, if I wanted it to stop, I could make it stop. I just need to do the right thing.” Charles looked shocked, and oddly hurt. Erik thought it was probably due to his aggressive tone, he tried to adjust his voice. “Can we stop talking about it now?” 

“I just, I–I don’t want you hurt anymore, Erik.” 

“Yeah? Well neither do I.” 

Erik and Charles stood there silently, letting the heat beat down on them. The sun basically reflected off of Charles’ pale skin, it soaked in Erik’s. Erik busied himself by rubbing off the smudge of dirt on his arm with his own sweat, Charles watched with troubled eyes, “You’re not two years older than me anymore, by the way.”

Erik stifled a grin, “No, we’re back to one now, aren’t we?”

Charles nodded, a smile spreading along his young features. “I am officially nine-years-old. And you’re officially ten-years-old.”

“I was officially ten-years-old a week ago.”

“Same thing.”

They both shared a warm smile, then Charles raised his eyebrows in question. “Do you want to play a game, then?” 

Erik thought for a moment before quickly kneeling down and ripping some grass out of the lawn, he then bounded back up and threw it in Charles’ face, “You’re it!” he then proceeded to run the opposite direction. 

The once serious environment had turned into a playful one in under a few second. It didn’t take them very long to feel too hot in their t-shirts and short shorts. Charles choked on the grass and swatted his hands at his face whilst yelling out Erik’s name, his laughter could be heard in the distance, along with his fast footsteps. Charles rubbed his eyes frantically whilst running, he couldn’t see where he was going but it was better than standing there like a dummy. “Come back here!” sneeze, “You sod! You’ve made my eyes all itchy!” sneeze, “Erik!” Charles bellowed from across the grounds, trying as hard as he could to catch up to Erik, who despite having longer legs, wasn’t any match against Charles’ speed.

The two spend the rest of the afternoon playing all sorts of different games, some that were even invented on the sport. They only took a break when Anastasia came out on the patio calling their names and offering the boys tall glasses of fresh lemonade. Erik refused at first, making up the excuse that he didn’t like sweet things, but Charles had forced the glass in his hand and as soon as he felt the chill against his palm, Erik gave in. Anastasia didn’t mention Erik’s black eye.

The rest of the summer went too quickly. The boys spent almost every hour together, sometimes they would have a day or two off when Erik’s father needed him or Charles’ was summoned by his grandparents visiting. Charles and Erik both adored spending their time together by the dam, Erik tried his best to lure Charles deeper in the water but the boy wouldn’t budge, he was content with only going up to his bottom rib. Charles read less due to being with Erik more, but most days the auburn-haired boy would let Charles read to him under the shade of a tree. Charles had looked over more than once to find his companion asleep, he had dozed off to the sound of his friend’s voice. Since last summer, Erik had forgotten the alphabet so Charles attempted in re-teaching it to him. Erik had almost completed learning it all and was beginning to even write some letters out and forming simple words, even Charles’ name. 

Erik became far too attached to Anastasia’s homemade lemonade and the two of them often had chats about certain things that only he and her knew about, Charles would feel left out and try to seek the attention back from his friend by standing in front of his face. 

Erik saw little of his friend after summer had ended, he knew he was busy with school and Erik busy with work. Sometimes Charles would yell out Erik’s name from the fountain and Erik would faintly hear it from the stalls, he would run up as fast as he could and meet the cheerful boy. Those were the only times that Erik saw Charles in a different outfit other than his school or summer one. 

Erik, knowing his father would be absent, kept his non-spoken promise and arrived at the front steps of the patio on Christmas night of 1981. He wasn’t wearing anything special, he didn’t own anything special to begin with, he had on him a white shirt and dark pants, his father had been nice enough to get him some new winter clothes from the second-hand shop. Charles was dressed fancily, he had an ironed pale shirt with a black jacket, he looked, well, rich. Charles had never felt happier than when he’d stepped out of his front door to be greeted by his friend waiting patiently for him. Erik was reluctant to walk up the stone steps but brought himself to do it anyway, he entered the Xavier household hesitantly. 

Now he and Charles are welcomed by many people as they enter the main room, none of whom Erik knew. The lights were dimmed and there was a gigantic tree in the corner of the room, one decorated with blazing lights and had multiple wrapped gifts underneath it. Erik had never seen anything like it. There was what Erik presumed was Christmas music faintly playing in the background, it accompanied the talking nicely. 

The room smelt clean and deliciously like cooked ham and bread, it was a big difference compared to his usual smoke-filled kitchen. There were two tables, one with drinks and one with snacks and other foods. There were many people clustering the room, chatting away excitedly with one another, Erik couldn’t help but feel majorly out of place. 

He spoke to the other guests as nicely as he could and for that, they left him alone to roam the large room with Charles in search of biscuits and fizzy drink. Whilst the two of them are eating Christmas cookies, and Charles can’t stop reminding Erik how fantastic it was that he came, Master Xavier approaches them from the adult’s table where the ladies are sipping champagne from slim glasses. 

“Erik,” He smiles warmly to the small boy, who in return froze, “I’m glad to see you’ve made it. I’m very happy to see you here, with Charles.” Charles whipped his head around to grin at his friend as if to say _‘I told you so’_.

“I appreciate the invite,” Erik tried as hard as he could to come up with the most adult-like sophisticated words possible, it was proving to be hard, after all it was the man’s son who was the scholarly one. “It’s a very nice party, Master Xavier.” Charles gawked.

“Oh, please, Brian will do.” He chuckled throatily.

Erik would have enjoyed to call him by his first name, but his heart wouldn’t let him do such thing. He would always be ‘Master’ for as long as he was employing Erik’s father. It was a matter of class, Erik knew that the Xavier’s were much more fortunate than his own family. He may have allowed himself to befriend their son, with demands by both of their father’s, but he couldn’t bring himself to put himself on the same level as them and call the estate owners by their first names. That would be breaking the social class ladder, and deep down, Erik knew that he would always still be on the first step. 

Master Xavier’s attention turned to his flush-faced son. “Are you enjoying the shortbread, Charles? I had Anastasia bake Christmas tree shaped ones just for you.” 

“Thank you, I love them, Erik loves them too.” 

“I do.” Erik agreed, proving it by politely taking a bite out of the biscuit he had been holding. Erik’s butterfly filled stomach was starting to ease down. 

They spoke to Master Xavier a little longer before he parted and deemed the night would be ending for the guests soon. After twenty more minutes, people began to slowly disappear. Some bided Erik a good night, some glanced at him, scowled and then left after ruffling up Charles’ hair. Soon it was just the Xavier family, a few close relatives and Erik. Intrusion was written on Erik’s face in permeant marker, only smudging a little due to his nervous sweat. 

The music was turned down low now. Master Xavier sat the boys down by the tree. “I think it’s time to open presents, hey boys?” Charles cheered while Erik smiled awkwardly. He tried to keep his eyes on the only safe point in the room, Charles. 

Erik sat with Charles as he opened a few presents, passing some of them over to his friend to open for him in attempt to make him feel more comfortable, it worked a little bit. Master Xavier passed a large box over to Charles that hadn’t been under the tree, it was his last one. Erik thought he’d seen Charles smile widely before, but now it was unbelievable. It was beginning to concern Erik just how wide Charles’ apple red lips could stretch over his constant rosy cheeks. 

Charles opened the box with care, and soon it came apparent to them that inside was a living creature. Erik couldn’t help the curl of his own lips once Charles pulled out what was in the box. It was a puppy.

Master Xavier spoke from beside them, “It’s a Cavalier King Charles Spaniel. Isn’t she beautiful, Charles? She even has your name.” Erik didn’t have time to feel jealous of the wonderful gift, he was too busy staring at the dog in awe. He reached out and ran his fingers through the milky, silk fur. The puppy was a cream colour and had light brown, almost caramel, colouring around its eyes, ears and down it’s flanks. She was absolutely _beautiful_. 

“Thank you so very much, father. Thank you, thank you! She’s just gorgeous” The puppy yapped in glee and rubbed its wet nose against Charles’s palm, he gasped in amazement. “I don’t know what to call her.” The puppy peered at Erik with friendly eyes. 

Charles drew his own eyes away from his new dog and over to Erik, who was gaping at the puppy in his lap. Charles smiled at him and offered the puppy for Erik to hold, his jaw looked like it just about broke. Erik took her carefully and placed the soft bundle in-between his crossed legs. Charles had never seen Erik smile so passionately at something, or someone. Charles was hit with a wave of emotion as he gazed at his new best friends quietly at ease together. 

“Summer.” Erik looked up, “I’m going to call her Summer.” Erik opened his mouth, but was cut off by Charles’ father.

“Wonderful choice, Charles, I’m sure she’ll stay as bright as summer for as long as she lives.” Charles tore Erik out of his view and turned to smile at his father. “Erik, I’ve got a present for you too.” 

Erik looked surprised, he delicately handed Summer back over to Charles and opened his hands to receive a box from Charles’ father. He unwrapped it quickly, as if all his anxiety had gone completely, or rather it had become worse and he was determined to leave. Erik grinned widely at what was underneath the shining Christmas wrapping. 

“Dinky Toys.” He spoke through his smile baring teeth. Charles felt a sense of both fondness and proudness spread throughout his chest. “It’s an express passenger train.” He looked sideways towards Master Xavier and mouthed a ‘thank you’, he didn’t say it. Master Xavier smiled appreciatively and nodded towards him. 

“Merry Christmas, Erik.”

The night ended after that and Charles left Summer with his father to walk Erik outside with his new train. There, they exchanged pleasant looks and wished each other farewell and a good night. When in fact, Erik did not have a good night after departing Charles. Once he got home, he was surprised to see his father sitting at the table in the dark. He had been waiting for Erik to get back. Erik almost dropped his new train when he saw him in the shadows – he would soon discover that it wouldn’t have mattered. His father pushed back the chair and let the scraping of wood on hard flooring fill the room. 

“I warned you, boy, I did.” Erik’s father grabbed him just below the armpit and dragged him into his own room, shortly after he threw his son to the floor in a heap. The train rattled on the ground loudly. “What’s this? They spoiled you, huh?” Erik tried to reach for the toy before his father did, but the old man moved his foot over to step on Erik’s wrist. He cried out in pain.

“It hurts! Please, stop it!” 

It only added fuel to his father’s intentions, he bellowed out a laugh and put more pressure on his leg. Erik yelled loudly, tears were stinging in his eyes. “I told you not to mix our kinds, it don’t happen for a reason, boy.” He lifted his foot but just as swiftly kicked away the train. It hit the wall hard and a piece shattered off, skittering along the floor back towards Erik. His father drew his leg up and brought his boot violently down on Erik’s ribcage. He wept. “What the fuck did I tell you about them? You have one job, boy. You better fucking stick to it from now on, I ain’t gonna give you another chance. You hear me?” 

Erik screamed both a positive reply and an apology, but it wasn’t enough. This father grabbed him by the shoulders and brought him back to his feet, before pushing him roughly to the wall. He held Erik up with one hand whilst pounding him on the side of the head with the other. The impact of fist to skull made a sickening hallow sound, Erik couldn’t hear it through the literal blood flowing down his ear. “We’re the dirt, boy! THE DIRT!” 

Erik couldn’t handle the piercing pain coming from his chest and head, he was far too dizzy, he wanted everything to stop. Lucky for him, his father did stop. Only after Erik had stopped thrashing and crying all together. With one more kick to the shin, he let go of the boy and let him drop to the ground heavily. Blood was still gushing down his face and left trails down his neck onto his new white shirt. Erik curled into the foetal position and strained to hear his father’s footsteps leaving his room, it was hard with the loud ringing coming from his right eardrum. 

Right before his father left completely, he picked up the train he had received and threw it to the ground. It smashed immediately and the parts separated to all different parts of the room, Erik watched on in swollen-eyed horror. 

“Merry Christmas, Erik.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter; the summer of 1982 when our boys are 10 and 11! THEY GROW UP SO FAST.


End file.
